


Heavy In Your Arms

by MEGrymz



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Mentioned Reaper | Gabriel Reyes, Suggestive Themes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-26
Updated: 2016-12-02
Packaged: 2018-08-17 10:00:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 32,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8139953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MEGrymz/pseuds/MEGrymz
Summary: Jesse McCree is near-fatally shot on what was supposed to be a routine operation.His newly-blossomed relationship means that Hanzo Shimada takes it upon himself to aid his partner in recovery.





	1. Deadlock Gorge

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally a roleplay, which I wove together into prose. I wrote for McCree, and Perimere wrote for Hanzo. Please enjoy!  
> -MEGrymz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bang.

The trip hadn't been that bad. Arrival, however? Arrival definitely was that bad.

McCree shifted uncomfortably, clicking his spurs together a few times to distract himself with the jingling noise they made. As much as he loved being somewhere that felt a little closer to home, this wasn't his idea of an ideal location. But, he knew the area best, and so he had to come, Deadlock Gang or no. All they had to do was escort a payload though, right? That was supposed to be easy.

Still, as he finished off his cigar, he wished he were somewhere else. "It's too damn quiet here."

"Don't worry, love, we'll take real good care of you." Tracer smiled at him in an effort to help him feel better. "If anything happens, Mercy is just back at our temporary base camp. That's real close, innit? Try not to stress yourself out, we're all a team again."

Being reminded that he wasn't alone here seemed to relieve some of the tension in his shoulders. "Right... Thanks, Lena."

He looked towards Hanzo, torn between talking to him and staying away for fear of making their nervousness worse. McCree opted to just tip his hat-- if Hanzo wanted to talk about it before the mission really kicked into action, he'd come over here.

Hanzo hadn't thought anything about their destination - warm and ugly but not much else - until he noticed the elephant in the room.

Or at least, to him it was an elephant - even the cowboy's thoughts were loud to him. His getup was loud, his voice carried through halls, and he could be damn obvious about how he felt. But maybe that was just the former yakuza lord paying extra close attention to him, and the elephant wasn't an elephant after all.

The thought irked him a little. Even though they'd both made each other aware of their feelings and agreed to "give it a go", Hanzo's relationship with Jesse McCree was still something he wasn't quite used to. He still insisted on keeping it under wraps.

But a Shimada never half-assed anything. So he was going to do this right, if only because the constant clinking of the American's spurs was beginning to get on his nerves. After Oxton zipped off ahead, probably to check for a clear path, Hanzo looked back to his... whatever the term was... and was surprised when their eyes met. McCree tipped his hat, as per usual, but he was still clearly quite off. The shorter of the two men did not reply to the silent greeting at first, instead hesitating and glancing towards where Oxton had left.

Okay. Clear.

He abandoned his perch with one graceful leap, the metal encasing his lower legs absorbing the weight of the landing. Storm Bow was still in his hand, and while he was still alert, Hanzo did not hesitate to focus on McCree, potentially surprising the taller man by putting a hand on his shoulder. "You are uneasy." It's not a question, it's a statement. "Tracer spoke of it like you had a reason to be." Despite the days spent together, talking of themselves, Hanzo didn't know the full extent of the connection between McCree and the Deadlocks. Even so, his voice softened, a gesture most would never hear from him. "Tell me what is wrong."

McCree let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, pulled from the momentary tension by the contact. "I don't think there's anythin' you can do to help me, but thanks, darlin'." He double-checked to be sure that the others were either out of sight or not paying attention, then pressed a kiss to Hanzo's forehead. It was partially for Hanzo's comfort so that he wouldn't worry so much, but it was also for his own. It was nice to show little bits of affection like that. Comforting.

"All you really gotta know is I used to run with these guys, Reyes took me in instead of throwing me in jail with my friends, and they've wanted me dead ever since." He cocked his pistol, giving the horizon a cursory glance-- it wouldn't be long before they had company. "The only way you stop being a Deadlock Rebel is by dying. I'm the only exception, and they ain't too fond of traitors."

He tried his best to ignore the fact that he had grown up with these men, that they knew each other, that they'd saved his ass and bandaged his knees and fed him three meals a day. It would feel wrong to kill them, but they wanted him dead. He hadn't known them for twenty years, now.

"I'm alright."

Hanzo paused a long moment, mind reeling as he reviewed the information and struggled to find a proper way to respond. Darlin'. Kisses. Careful touches, chaste and comforting. Such things weren't anything Hanzo was the most accustomed to, but being around the cowboy made it easy to get used to regular displays of affection. In response, the archer was always a bit surprised, maybe even mildly flustered if out in the open. In this case, he was appreciative, forehead bumping briefly against McCree's shoulder as the gunslinger spoke of his past. Leaving behind a criminal world that wanted you dead? It sounded painfully familiar.

"If you're certain," He conceded, taking a step back and glancing out towards the road. Nothing from Tracer over the comms just yet, but there was no harm in bing ready. "Just... do not hesitate." With that, he moved towards one piece of the train wreckage, kicking off the ground to scale it with ease and move ahead to a suitable perch. He used his now-free hand to nock an arrow, its head the size of a strawberry; woe be to him who wanders into the assassin's sights, indeed. A strange burst of nostalgia welled up in his chest as he did so, and he was about to speak again, regardless of whether or not McCree could hear him, when a sudden dart of movement made him freeze. As if on cue, Tracer's voice cried out through their earpieces, announcing the incoming defense. The Deadlock Gang.

Hanzo did his absolute best to not imagine the incoming men and woman as a young McCree, as he two arrows fly, each landing a killing shot. There were enough of them to give him a hassle, certainly - just enough of a hassle for him to lose sight of McCree.

Jesse remembered this place like the back of his hand-- how old had he been when he joined? He couldn't even remember off the top of his head. Just a kid, that much was certain. He'd only been seventeen when Reyes found him.

He shook the thought away, deeming it too distracting for the current moment. It could wait until after the fight. Things continued along fairly normally, though it wasn't an easy fight by any means, bullets flying and swear words slipping into the air. It wasn't long before someone recognized him, though, and he heard his name faintly ripple through enemy lines-- Jesse was back, and they wanted his head so badly they'd put a bounty of millions of dollars on it. McCree's stomach promptly dropped.

"Watch the tunnels on the left," he called, shooting someone that had slipped out from one of them. It would be fine.

When he heard the familiar lilt of the cowboy's voice, Hanzo was flooded with a kind of relief that caught him off-guard. The gunslinger would be the death of him, he decided grimly, as he notched a scatter arrow and let it fly into the tunnel McCree had described. Two satisfying cries of pain, none of them from his team, helped soothe his nerves back into their rigid, trained focus. No more shooting nervous glances towards where he'd last seen the red serape. He'd had the patience and diligence of a killer hammered into him since he was a child. Jesse could handle himself.

He moved ahead, darting above the tunnels to the rock ledges overhead, eyes scanning the ground. The Deadlocks were a shadow of their former selves, still a threat but certainly not international, much like the Shimada-Gumi. He had no fear of snipers or air support, instead keeping an eye on each possible way to the payload and his allies by foot. Another arrow flew, hitting a man in the shoulder, with Tracer finishing him off as he rushed by.

"All clear up ahead. Mind the ledges," He said through the comm. "There are too many bypaths for me to block them all if we are rushed." Then, most unlike himself, "Is it fine down there?"

"Everything's goin' well, don't you worry your pretty little head." McCree got one of those shit-eating grins, chuckling to himself. There was something warm and fuzzy about Hanzo's concern for him, and honestly, he really got a kick out of it.

"No flirting on the comm!" Mei's voice filtered through-- she'd been hanging around the back, with the payload. She was scolding, yes, but it was clear in her tone of voice that she thought it was sort of cute.

Hanzo's brief dose of uncharacteristic worry was over, and he scowled wordlessly at the world, blaming his warm and flushed cheeks on the hot sun above his head. He grumbled something in Japanese, quick and fiercely peeved, only to hear Mei chuckle. He'd forgotten she was fluent. Son of a bitch.

At least Tracer's giggling died down. If McCree was back to his laid back self by the end of this mission, he would never hear the end of it from Hanzo.

McCree laughed aloud and shot down a couple other gang members without much of any problem. A bullet hit the earthen wall beside him, but another shot from his Peacekeeper took care of the source. With a loud bang, a smaller bullet ricocheted off of his chestplate, leaving a dent. It was startling, definitely, but it had happened many times before. Not really anything to worry about.

The Deadlock got better, more desperate, less distance to run as the payload rattled on, and Hanzo found himself having to be a touch more careful. He was deadly as ever, each movement fluid and lethal and easy as breathing, the buildings only offering the gangsters temporary safety before an arrow found its way to their chest or temple.

"I think we got somebody in the building down the path on the right, about 2 o'clock," McCree mused, squinting against the sun. He could see a couple of people, one of which he guessed was responsible for the new dent in his chestplate, judging by the small size of their gun. The second person, however, was unidentifiable outside of the sight of their rifle sticking out from the window.

Realization clicked.

Hanzo's concentration intensified. Pull, aim, release, breathe. Pull, aim, release, breathe. It was all too easy, until a shout made him pause.

"Watch your head!"

"But they couldn't have--"

McCree raised his pistol, ready to put his years of sharpshooting to use, and--

A sharp, searing pain in his chest spread through his entire torso quickly. What the fuck? McCree's brow furrowed as he looked down at himself, utterly confused. Had he just been shot? Oh, fuck, that was a lot of blood. Too much blood.

Mei screamed, and raced forward to put up an ice wall between McCree and the deadlock's window. He did, however, promptly drop to the ground like a sack of bricks.


	2. Fool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hanzo struggles to keep Jesse alive. It doesn't look good.

The sound stopped Hanzo's heart like a knife. He couldn't have miscalculated so. He wouldn't have. He shouldn't have, and of all the people, they wouldn't have got him, not--

Once glance told him how stupid he was to hope.

His heartbeat screamed back to life and pounded in his ears as he roared wordless fury, his bare arm coming alight with ancient fire as the building was torn asunder by the dragons. They did not damage the structure, but every Deadlock inside it was burned behind repair, the maws of the beasts swallowing them whole. The dead were punished, the spirits were sated. The dragon in human form, however, felt something else.

He fell to the ground, land haphazard but the brief pain ignored as he ran towards the fallen figure. "Jesse," He whispered, choking on breath before collapsing to his knees next to him and remembering how to speak. His hands pushed aside McCree's serape, the sight of blood scaring him more than blood ever had since the horrible duel with his brother, over a decade ago. "McCree! Answer me!"

"H-Howdy," McCree sputtered, gripping his chest. "What the fuck j-just happened?" He felt like he was going to puke, and it didn't help that everything was getting fuzzy. "Don't freak out."

It was much too late to tell Hanzo not to freak out. A hand lifted to his ear, as if checked the comm was still there, and he barked into it, "McCree has been hit in the chest. He requires aid now." His tone was harsh, vicious, angry, as if blaming Mercy for the man's injury, but under it all was urgency, painfully desperate.

Those same emotions - anger and desperation and shock - coiled with distress and legitimate fear as he unbuckled McCree's chestplate, yanking the straps free so he could toss it aside. He had no extra cloth on his person, and didn't want to jostle the man further by removing his serape, so Hanzo tugged the golden scarf from his hair and pressed it in a crumpled mass over the wound in an attempt to slow the bleeding.

"You _fool_ ," He hissed through his teeth, not realizing the shininess in his eyes until it wetted McCree's shirt and caught in the loose strands of his inky hair. "You stupid, stupid _American_. Look at me." His voice cracked at that last sentence, as he feebly ignored the blood covering his hands as he covered the wound. "Do not _dare_ pass out, don't you _dare_ , Jesse." Jesse. His first name. He didn't notice nor care about using it. Panic was settling in and he couldn't stop it, this was too much like last time, his tattoo burning as he held a dying man. "Look at me, you brash, _stupid_ man!"

Hanzo looked gorgeous with his hair down, McCree decided. It was a nice distraction from the crushing sense of panic that had begun to consume them, really. "I'm lookin'," he mumbled, coughing at the pressure on his chest. "Don't cry..." It broke his heart to see Hanzo in tears. He was such a disciplined man, always in touch with his emotions-- it was startling to think that Hanzo had lost control of them.

"I-I'm gonna be fine," he insisted, though he was admittedly unsure of that statement's credibility. It took all of his effort to keep talking and to keep his eyes open. McCree wanted to reach up and wipe those tears away, to kiss Hanzo, but his body refused to do much more than shift and squirm uselessly.

"Never heard you call me Jesse before..." The words slurred together, becoming increasingly difficult to understand. Somewhere in the background he could hear Lena and Mei talking, trying to figure out if they could afford to pick him up and take him to the shuttle. It was background noise, though-- his focus was on Hanzo. "You're beautiful," Jesse whispered, starting to feel himself tear up as well. He wasn't gonna die, right? Right?

Hanzo's focus was failing him. His impeccable patience, the things he'd had drilled into his mind and body, were abandoning him. He was a fool, a greater fool than McCree ever was, and even the softening of his aching heart at the man's failing words scared him. He wasn't even in danger and here he was, terrified.

"Do not say such things," He tried to snap, but his voice had lost its edge as he used a somewhat bloody thumb to swipe Jesse's tears from his face. The calloused touch was tender, like the bigger man was made of china, able to break under the barest touch. "You can say them later. You _will_ say them later. You need to focus on staying conscious." He grit his teeth. "You need to look at me and _not die_."

"Hanzo!" Lena's voice cut through the fog of panic and early grief, just barely. "We've gotta get a way to move 'im!"

The voice did not snap him out of his grief, but it did help Hanzo get some weak grasp on focus. The scarf was ineffective, his words meant little. McCree - Jesse - would die unless he was taken someplace Mercy would get to him in time. There was no other choice.

One hand reached under the cowboy's knees, the other under the curve of his back. He was by no means light, but Hanzo was by no means weak. Clenching his jaw, hands slick with the other's blood, he stood, lifting the taller man, carrying him as fast as he could safely move, Mei and Lena clearing the remaining Deadlock with a new fervor.

Jesse held onto Hanzo like a lifeline, groaning in pain when he was lifted-- it made everything go really fuzzy for a minute, and it didn't refocus much. Struggling to keep his eyes open, Jesse tried to just focus on Hanzo's face, on his breathing, on the feeling of being in his arms. It was grounding, keeping him anchored to reality.

"Stay with me," Hanzo breathed against Jesse's temple, trying not to rush against the overdose of adrenaline in his body. "We are almost there, Jesse, just stay with me." McCree's arms clutching him, fingers grasping his kyudo-gi like he's holding on for dear life, dare to comfort Hanzo. To give him a flicker of hope that he still had strength tucked under his ridiculous cowboy getup. It wasn't to last, of course - every glance down told him the man was slipping away, fading from consciousness and life. Gritting his teeth, Hanzo pushed on, steps quick and rhythmic against the ground.

"...Hey," he whispered, gathering what little strength he had left-- his eyes fluttered closed several times as he tried to speak, words slurring together. "I want y-you t'know... that I... I think I love you..." He gazed dreamily up at Hanzo, rather pleased (considering the situation), and finally slipped out of consciousness.

Hanzo's heartbeat thudded in his ears, too loud for him to even think of a reply. Jesse didn't ask for one, limp in his arms, still as the grave, barely managing the thinnest of breaths. Choking on emotions he hadn't a clue how to face, Hanzo held McCree more tightly against him and ran the rest of the way without even a pause. The payload was secured but nobody cared anymore, as Mercy intercepted them with staff alight and eyes wide.

"Fix him," was all Hanzo could get out, eyes streaming and expression tight with repressed anger, as Mercy only nodded and called for Reinhardt to help her get McCree to their makeshift medbay. Mei put a hand on Hanzo's clothed shoulder, trying to comfort and insisting he follow the small medbay (his cheek had been cut somehow), but he shrugged it off and instead left to his bunk in the base camp. His storm bow needed to be put away, and he would be of no help to the doctor. The real reason for running off, he couldn't say - maybe it was this fear he was so unaccustomed to, threatning to overwhelm him if he saw that bloodied serape one more time.


	3. Visit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hanzo visits McCree to make sure he is in one piece.

The whole trip back to headquarters, Mercy was with McCree, and now that they were settled in she'd moved him to their official medical bay. Hanzo spoke a word to nobody on the way back to Gibraltar, treating those who tried to comfort him with short sentences and withering stares similar to the way he had treated his team when he'd first arrived at Overwatch.

None of this could stop Hanzo from going back to the medbay hours later, pacing outside the door until he could be let in, McCree's last words to him echoing back and forth in his skull until it ached.

Tracer was restless, but she knew it had to be worse for Hanzo-- she'd seen him break down in the field.

"It isn't your fault, you know," she mused, lounging across one of the waiting room chairs in an effort to relax a little. "It was a risk to bring Jesse, but he insisted that he should come because he had all the information about the area."

Lena frowned, struggling to think of something to say as she ran her hands back through her hair. "...D'you want to talk about it?" She watched him pace back and forth, wondering if there was anything they could even do.

He had made it clear he was not to be soothed, and didn't open up. Until Lena prompted him, that is-- he paused before taking in a deep breath and ceasing his pacing.

"It is not a matter of Jesse's risk," He snapped, no venom behind his tone as much as reflex frustration. Lena had not wronged him once since he'd arrived at Gibraltar - he had no reason to be mad at her. But she _had_ seen him fall apart, act weak in a time of crisis, and thus her eye contact hit him with another wave of shame.

"It was my fault." His voice was quiet, tense, revealing little more than his words did. There was no point humoring hubris. So he told it as he saw it. "I underestimated our enemy, and my pride might cost our friend his life." Friend. Not teammate, not 'the cowman'. Friend, no point in denying it. "If he should die, I... I couldn't forgive myself. I am not ashamed to admit it."

"Hanzo..." Her expression softened. "You did more for him than any of us. You used your dragons, stayed with him, comforted him, carried him back..." She sat up straight, trying to think of something to say that would help. "You did everything you could, I saw you. You don't have to apologize for your feelings, they're a real big part of you and they're something to cherish. If you didn't feel so strongly about Jesse, you wouldn't have had such a positive effect on him. Didn't you see the look on his face?" Lena smiled a little. "He's got a real case of puppy love. He'll want to see you first thing." She knew Jesse would be okay-- he had a huge fighting spirit, and he was with one of the best doctors in the world.

Despite everything Hanzo was struggling with, Lena’s honest and kind approach did work. He hesitated to respond, especially when she talked about his feelings for McCree (a part of him wondered how she found out, but after that display of heartbreak, of course any suspicions would be confirmed). Hanzo knew Tracer had a point, but to come to terms with it was harder.

He'd never realized the positive effect he'd had on Jesse, though, besides maybe his tidying habits. The thought it gave him a warm feeling he hadn't expected at all. "You are wise beyond your years," He finally said, proving he meant it by facing her fully and giving a small but polite bow. "Thank you." He paused, glancing back towards the medbay in case Mercy was about to show up. Quiet annoyance - much more like his old self - tinged his voice. "Does it always take this long?"

"Depends," she sighed. "Some things are in-and-out, other things take all day. It's been hours, though, so it can't be much longer..." Hanzo's patience - something he had worked on for years, to temper the practiced blade of his mind - was beginning to wane by the time the light flicked off. His head flicked towards towards it, eyes bright and alert, like a hawk spotting prey.

Mercy poked her head out, dressed in her long white coat, and presented a small, meek smile. The look on Mercy's face answered Hanzo before any words, and relief filled his lungs and his eyes. "McCree is awake."

Tracer just about jumped out of her seat. "Really? Oh, cheers, you're incredible!" She beamed, grinning from ear to ear, and glanced at Hanzo. "So... Can anybody see him?"

"Natürlich," she responded smoothly, "but only one at a time."

Tracer gestured towards Hanzo. "Go on, love. He's waiting."

It was another wordless thanks, his appreciation for both women tacitly obvious as he brushed past Dr. Zielger to head in and find the gunslinger. His gunslinger. The one he had hurt and saved, the one he had to hold and scold and apologize to. It was not difficult to find him, but what Hanzo truly wondered as he stepped into view of Jesse - what was he supposed to say?

 

* * *

 

McCree looked totally strung out, propped up in one of the crisp, white beds. "I am on _so_ many painkillers," he laughed, then groaned rather pitifully and made a face. "Oh, God, I shouldn't have laughed."

"I'll be back shortly-- don't do anything crazy." Mercy smiled, and slipped off with a clipboard, presumably to go take notes and fetch supplies.

"I look great, huh?" He looked like shit. Jesse gave Hanzo a crooked grin, totally exhausted, but still somehow smug in the fact that he had survived another catastrophe. "Howdy."

Jesse's demeanor was surprising, to say the least. He looked happier than a bird in spring, despite the bandaging around his midsection. Hanzo blamed it on the painkillers as he approached the bed. He hardly even noticed Mercy leaving.

"Shit." That was his first word. "You look like shit." He stopped next to the bed, hands clasped behind his back. He could not hold him, not yet. "I... I must apologize for how I acted. I almost had you killed, and didn't... I thought you..." Hanzo shook his head. Remembering Lena's words helped soothe his nerves. "Foolish cowboy." He let himself reach out a hand, brushing away some of the other's chocolate brown hair from his face. The same calloused fingers that had wiped aways his tears now brushed feather-light over Jesse's forehead, and a bemused smirk found his face. "You struck fear into a dragon."

"You kiddin'? I was thankin' my lucky stars that you were there-- a real live samurai in shining armor." McCree placed a hand to his brow and swooned, while the other rested over his chest, as if he'd been struck by cupid's arrow. "I don't remember much of anything, if we're bein' honest. I'm real sorry about your ribbon, though." He frowned, thinking a moment.

The mention of his scarf was surprising, causing Hanzo to frown and lift a hand to his hair. It still hung loose around his face, despite the rest of him being back in clean, perfect order. So unlike the bloody, panicking Hanzo of before. "There is not much to remember, besides maybe me losing my composure." Thank goodness Jesse didn't remember it all.

Did he remember telling Hanzo he loved him?

"Mercy dragged Jack in to help, I'm guessin', because she put him on laundry duty. Managed to save most of my serape, but I'm gonna have to wear a different one. Maybe you could cut off the strip with the design to put your hair up with?"

It took about half a second for him to embarrass himself-- that was a very intimate proposal to make. His face burned, and he broke eye contact. "Er, sorry. That was forward."

McCree interrupted Hanzo's thoughts with a suggestion, so simple and sweet yet oddly intimate, causing Hanzo's cheeks to redden furiously as he opened his mouth to offer a retort, then paused, remembering what Lena said. 'If you didn't feel so strongly about Jesse, you wouldn't have had such a positive effect on him. Didn't you see the look on his face?'

So the hand on Jesse's forehead instead touched the man's bearded face to guide their eyes together again. "Would you like it if I did?"

"...Yes," he admitted, placing his hand over Hanzo's. "I'd like that a whole lot." It felt nice to just be honest about it, but he still found himself floundering nervously. He knew Hanzo was hesitant about their relationship, but McCree couldn't help falling for him. He was like a lovesick puppy, affectionate and constant, unashamed to tell the whole world how much he cared about Hanzo. In this little room, though, all alone, he wondered if maybe it was a bad thing.

"Then I will do it." He was probably going to regret this, Hanzo mused, thoughts flitting back and forth as he imagined himself walking into the dining hall. Lúcio's jaw dropping, Lena grinning from ear to ear at the fluttering red binding Hanzo's hair, everyone seeing but few daring to comment on the dragon's silent announcement. Genji chuckling to himself, McCree red-faced and grinning from that 'puppy love' Lena mentioned. With that in mind, Hanzo added with more certainty, "It would be my honor."

"I didn't think you'd say yes," he responded, and lovingly laced his finger's with Hanzo's. "You sure know how to flatter me." McCree imagined the reactions they'd get-- Genji would practically interrogate him. They'd been close friends throughout their time with overwatch, and he was almost looking forward to the comical reaction he was sure to get. He kissed Hanzo's hand, letting out a soft sigh. "...Did I say something stupid while we were out there?" God, he probably had.

At Jesse's question, Hanzo found himself biting the inside of his cheek as he struggled on an answer. Should he tell the truth? What if McCree regretted saying it? Dying men did not always say what they would in health. "Nothing incriminating," He decided, biting back a smile as the cowboy lavished tender affections on his hand. "I called you Jesse. You seemed to like it."

"I think I remember that," he mused. Jesse. It sounded better coming from Hanzo, really-- maybe he should call him Jesse more often.

Hanzo was about to suggest just that - calling him Jesse more often, just maybe, at least when they were alone together - when Dr. Zielger returned with the gunslinger's items. In a bit of a rush, like he was embarrassed at the thought of being caught handing out tender affections, he withdrew his hand from McCree's, standing dutifully next to him and watching (he'd been called shy before, but had swiftly denied it, he was _reserved_ , not _shy_ ).

"We managed to save most of what you had. Your shirt and serape both have holes, and I asked Torbjörn to make you a new chestplate-- be sure to thank him later." She set the stack down on the side table, then placed his hat neatly on top. "If you need anything, like more painkillers or water or what-have-you, hit the button and I'll stop by."

"Thanks, Angela."

"Just doing my job! Now, I'm going to write down all of your treatments... Drink lots of water, no walking for a few days..." Hanzo paid as much attention to her words as if it was his prescription instead. There was always the chance that Jesse would forget, as he'd mentioned being high on painkillers earlier. He'd keep the gunslinger in check. Mercy glanced quickly from Hanzo to McCree, and gave the cowboy a disciplinary look. "And please, Jesse, no sex for a couple of weeks."

It took every ounce of willpower that McCree had not to burst into hysterical laughter. "Y-Yes ma'am," he sputtered, covering his mouth to keep back his amusement. Warmth rushed to Hanzo's face, the redness spreading from his nose to his ears as his eyes widened and lips parted in silent shock. He was so utterly stunned by what she had said, implied - and so easily, too, he knew she was a doctor but _still_ \- that he couldn't even muster a proper dignified response.

"Okay," she sighed, deciding that was enough. "Behave yourself." As soon as she left, McCree looked at Hanzo with the biggest shit-eating grin in existance, starting to laugh anyway, even if it hurt to.

All Hanzo could do was gape and sputter uselessly until she was long gone, and McCree couldn't hold in his laughter any more. "Did you tell her?" He accused, turning on his heel to glare at Jesse around his blush, but he clearly was not truly angry. Just horribly embarrassed, caught off-guard like a grown cat found chasing its tail.

"Jesus Christ, Hanzo, don't look at me like that, it hurts to laugh--" He chuckled, then cleared his throat, which also hurt. "But no, I didn't say a damn thing to her. Guess we haven't been subtle enough, have we?"

McCree swearing his innocence and commenting on their "subtlety" only darkened Hanzo's blush. Unable to keep eye contact in his state, he dragged a hand down his face, just about groaning in his own humiliation. Maybe he'd been naive to think that they could have privacy, and maybe she hadn't actually heard anything, but it was still embarrassing.

To McCree, it was just really funny. "C'mere and kiss me," he sighed, patting the side of the bed. Hanzo was obviously still mortified, and almost seemed like he was going to deny McCree his kiss, but he couldn't deny them both. So he filled the space between them, leaned over the bed, and cupped the other's face with one hand to give him a tender kiss. Then another, for luck. And another, because the fool owed him at least that, Hanzo's lips soft and insistent but chaste against Jesse's.

"I can't wait 'til I can sleep in a real bed again, then I can be with you." The thought of ending his day spooned up against Hanzo underneath a big soft blanket was appealing, to say the least-- it saddened him to remember that, no, he couldn't. "How long d'you think I'll have to stay here?"

"I am no doctor, but Zielger has dealt with worse. It won't be long," He murmured, drawing back to gaze into Jesse's eyes. The man who'd said he loved him. Him, of all people, the least deserving of love in the lot of them. "Though her orders are... inconvenient." A growl, almost playful, singed his words. "Perhaps you should ask her the details of her rules, since you find them _so funny_."

"Okay, you have to admit that it was pretty funny!" He snickered all over again, pressing his face into his hand. "Ohhh my god..." After a moment, he calmed down again, letting out a big sigh. "Whooooo. Alright. I'm good." Jesse grinned up at him and planted a kiss right in the middle of his forehead, then tucked Hanzo's hair behind his ear. "You're a real treat, you know that?"

"You keep calling me that, 'treat'. I do not understand it." It was probably something along the lines of 'sugar', 'sweetheart', 'moon pie', and 'pumpkin'. Gushy food-based affections to add to McCree's list of pet names. Hanzo was a bit less gracious with his, but it was just his nature. "And no, it was not funny."

"I love giving you pet names," McCree mused, grinning wider. He had so many, and it absolutely delighted him to use them. He made a mental note to smother Hanzo in affection later. "Dollface, poppet, honeysuckle, sweet thing..."

Hanzo took each kiss and savored it, for once not fearing being seen, until the effort it took started making Jesse's chest ache again and he pulled away. The withdrawal caused him to pause-- concern flashed on his features as he glanced back down at the bandaging covering the taller man's chest, and he pursed his lips together in quiet dislike. Apparently he needed to stop amusing Jesse so much. "You should rest," He murmured, chasing after the cowboy as he pulled away, pressing quick kisses to his jaw, his cheek, his forehead, while the draping black locks worked to shield the little gestures from the world. "You could talk until you died, but you are still weak. How are you not exhausted?"

McCree did talk as much as he could, though, didn't he? Hanzo was right about that. "I'll be the chattiest ghost in the graveyard, I'll tell ya that much." He seemed delighted by the effect that his sense of humor had on Hanzo. "I'm tired, trust me, but I refuse to just sleep this whole thing through. I want to spend this time with you." He stuck with his joke for a moment, but then the humor slipped off of his face just a bit. "...I almost lost you."

Around the somewhat-confused enjoyment left over from hearing the other's accent curl around various ridiculous pet names, Hanzo felt a knife of emotion bury itself under his ribs and reach up to poke his heart. "You almost lost me. Says the man with a hole in his heart," He retorted against Jesse's forehead. He kissed the skin under his mouth again and looked down to meet the other's eyes. When it was just them, after they had wound down and one of them had closed the gap, it was easy to touch and kiss and let loose. To do things he hadn't dared since he was younger, happier, stupider.

"My mistake almost cost me your life," He murmured, eyes like amber and steel, warm but intense. "I will not let such a thing happen again." He didn't voice the rest - that it was making him rethink things, realize just how deeply he cared about the cowboy, that spending this time with him was more treasured than it ever had been.

"It's not your fault," McCree whispered, expression softening. "There was nothin' more you could've done. You did a whole lot for me, you didn't make any mistakes. This isn't your fault." He took Hanzo's hand and kissed it, holding it close. "I don't want you to feel like you're a failure."

"Still, I..." Hanzo started to protest to Jesse's insistence that he had not failed, not botched the mission, but he couldn't find the words to do it. So instead, he took the words to heart, held them close and did his very best to believe them. McCree kissed him, softly, which helped to seal the deal, and Hanzo let himself indulge as he leaned into the contact. To trust what the other said, even above his own judgement, in hopes that he knew better.

"Stay with me, I want you here."

"McCree." His voice and eyes softened of their own accord. "Jesse. If you will not rest, I will stay with you." A playful edge snuck into his tone. "But if you strain yourself, I will not be lenient."

That last bit left Jesse a little confused-- he was too drained to think very clearly. "Are you implyin' something?"

When asked if he was implying anything, the former yakuza smiled slightly and lifted a hand to tug McCree's ear gently. A fond scolding. "I am implying that you will receive far less closeness if your refusal to rest slows your healing. I do not want an angel chasing me down for slowing your healing." He smiled through his lecture, though, leaning back to rest his elbows on the bed. "So what am I here for, then? Conversation?"

"Ow, what are you, my mother?" The cowboy made a bit of a face at the scolding, mostly teasing in his reaction. "Are you bribing me?" He grinned mischievously, and watched Hanzo lean back to settle across the bed. "Or are you trying to seduce me? Scandalous," He teased, pretending to swoon. "Ooh, Mr. Shimada, oooohhh, I just can't resist your charm..."

Jesse's reaction to the mock-scolding and threat caused Hanzo to smile again - it was becoming a record, at this point, how many times he's smiled in one hour, and they looked nice on his face - as he snorted and made a small show of rolling his eyes. Couldn't resist his charm, eh? Didn't they both know it. "Wouldn't you be pleased if I was," He retorted, smile turning into a wry smirk. "Two weeks. I do not know how you will last."

He opened his mouth to comment further, probably in the form of more lighthearted poking of fun, when the door opened to reveal Mercy once again. Like a switch had been flipped, Hanzo tensed slightly around the shoulders, smile falling as he turned to look at the doctor. With an expression that could only be called apologetic, she said, "I'm sorry, Hanzo, but Jesse needs his sleep. The more, the faster he will recover." She smiled slightly at them both, and Hanzo was reminded of their last conversation. The tips of his ears darkened as she added, "I'll notify you tomorrow when you may visit him again."

At first, the ex-assassin didn't respond. Then he lifted a hand, reached for Jesse's hat, and lifted it to tug the worn serape out from under it. Folded it in his hands, clearly intending to hold onto it. Hold true to what he's told Jesse. "Fine. I am ready to leave." Of course, 'ready' didn't mean he wanted to.

McCree loathed to see Hanzo leave, but he knew it was necessary. He could wait, and get the rest he needed. Watching Hanzo leave with that serape made him feel fluttery, knowing that his aloof samurai intended on fashioning its tattered remains into a tie for his hair. It would be an announcement, of course.

He couldn't wait for reactions.


	4. Touch Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Confessions are exchanged, kisses are shared.

Sleep came to Jesse quickly, but it wasn't particularly pleasant, dotted with discomforting pain as he shifted around in bed. Nightmares were expected, after a near-death experience, but he wasn't very good at dealing with them. Injury meant he slept a lot, straight into the morning, and the sun through the blinds did nothing to pull him from sleep like it usually did. He rolled over, sweat beading on his forehead, and made a soft sort of mumble.

Sleep for Hanzo was different, but no more successful. Instead of falling asleep quickly, he lay wide awake, clutching his serape against his chest with a numb insistence, breathing in what little scent of McCree lingered around all the cleaning Mercy had given it. Smoke and his shampoo and his natural scent, haunting him as he knew that had things been just a little bit different, he'd be holding the garment of a dead man. Nightmares wafted through his mind, colorful and angry, Genji and McCree winding together as their voices rang out 'not good enough.' He jolted awake too many times, clutching the serape, dirtying it with sweat and tears.

He hadn't realized how much the cowboy meant to him until he had almost slipped from his fingers.

When he walked to the medbay, he could feel eyes on him. Genji stopped in his tracks with his mentor, shock evident even without his face visible, and Winston and Lena both choked on the food they were eating as the archer walked by. Mei gasped softly with wide eyes, and even Jack and Fareeha paused their conversation to do a double take. McCree's serape was a staple of his getup and a joke of many - they could recognize it in the form of a lovely, fluttering hair ribbon.

When Jesse awoke, Hanzo was by his side, given permission by Mercy (who had also stared at the ribbon, hiding a smile behind her hand). He watched the man grumble and roll over in the sunlight, the grumble softening his heart somewhat. He no longer felt guilty, but Jesse was still pitiful without it. "Jesse," He said softly, extending a hand to rest it on the other's shoulder as he situated himself in a chair beside the bed. "Are you well?"

McCree awoke with a jolt at the touch, a gasp pulling itself from his throat, and the nightmare disappeared like a trail of smoke. Still vivid for a few moments, then fleeting, and barely there. The harshness of Jesse's awakening surprised Hanzo, causing him to furrow his brow in concern and pull back his hand until he was sure that the man was fully awake. Jesse let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding, and visibly relaxed. "...Mornin'," he sighed, comforted by the sight of the other.

The ribbon caught his eye immediately-- Hanzo had really been serious about it? Wordlessly, before Hanzo could question the apparent nightmare, he reached out to take the fabric in his fingers and kissed the end. It was an intimately charged gesture, and he didn't regret it for a moment. It left the archer utterly breathless.

"Did you doubt my dedication?" He asked, tone both lightheartedly questioning, and heavy with meaning. Pink tinted his cheeks as he added, "It... attracted attention. You may be regaled with questions later today." Not that he thought McCree would mind. He seemed anything but upset about the sight of the beautiful red tying back Hanzo's hair.

"That's fine," he murmured. "I ain't ashamed to be with you." McCree toyed with the fabric a few moments before letting it fall again, and sat up far enough to wrap his arms around Hanzo, pulling him close. The hug was met with surprise, then slowly reciprocated with strong arms trapping Jesse in the embrace. There was a long moment of silence, but he allowed himself to confess, "I love you, Hanzo." McCree hid his face from view, tucked neatly into Hanzo's shoulder through their embrace, which tightened at the confession. The cowboy probably couldn't escape if he wanted to.

"You told me," He murmured, feeling Jesse's tears wet his bare shoulder. "When you almost died. I do not know if I deserve it."

Even just the smell of Hanzo was a comfort that kept Jesse grounded to reality. "I dreamt I lost you," he murmured. "I can't lose you."

He turned his head just enough to press a kiss to the side of Jesse's temple. "Lose me? Is it not you who runs into the thicket of a firefight with all your spurs and hubris?" He wasn't accusing the cowboy of his fighting methods, just trying to soothe the man with humor. "And no sense of direction, Jesse. I would not be the one to be lost."

"If I die we lose each other," he responded softly, letting out a little sigh. "I've left enough people behind, and you ain't gonna be one of them." Jesse just held onto Hanzo, feeling very small for the first time in a long while-- it had a uniquely sobering effect.

"Please just don't let go of me yet," he asked, pressing a soft kiss to his shoulder where the tattoo started. His right hand slid down its length slowly, carefully tracing every little detail until he reached the end and laced their fingers together. "I love you. So much."

"I won't let go," He promised when Jesse pleaded that he keep holding on, kissing the shoulder adorned with the magnificent irezumi. Hanzo's fingers squeezed McCree's in earnest, and what the other said rang true. He'd thought about it all night.

Just as he'd thought about being loved, honestly loved. If he could hardly accept Genji's love for him as a brother, how could he accept Jesse's? He tried to answer, but his voice caught in his throat and he suddenly couldn't speak. So he just repeated his earlier words. "Do you wish to speak of it? Your injury?" His thumb traced circles on the back of Jesse's hand. "Would that alleviate the nightmares? Should I ask Dr. Zielger if I can stay overnight?"

His stomach tightened at the thought of talking about it, but at the same time, his heart swelled when Hanzo offered to try to stay here overnight for him. "...There ain't much to say about it." Jesse closed his eyes, trying to just relax. "...I need to call my Ma, I think. Haven't seen her in person since I was a stupid kid."

Thinking about it made him start crying for real, and he felt completely embarrassed by it. "Shit, I ain't even talked to her since the recall. Some son I am." He wiped the tears from his face and let out a breath. "I could'a died and my family wouldn't even have known until they saw me on the fuckin' crime channel." He'd tried to hold it in, but finally decided that it wasn't working and just let it all out, crying like a big embarrassing baby.

As Jesse began to cry against him, going from meekly holding it in to finally letting out all the fear and pain of the last god-knows-when, Hanzo didn't even think of letting go. His fingers bunched in the back of Jesse's shirt, grounding them both as he buried his nose in the other man's shaggy hair and held him against his shoulder. He couldn't relate to this, the need to see his family, the fear of what they'd think when he died. With the exception of Genji, his family had been cold and impartial, creating a weaponized heir rather than raising a beloved son. But his inability to empathize didn't make Jesse's grief any less painful.

Were it anyone else in tears, he would have fled for the furthest corner of the compound. But with Jesse, it was different. Was that love? He didn't know.

"But you did not die," Hanzo reminded, voice low and heavy near the other's ear. "You can mend it, Jesse. There is still time. Do not lament over what might have been. It never served me any kindness." Gently, he drew back, just enough to meet McCree's eyes and hold his face, using a thumb to wipe his tears. "This isn't Deadlock. Your family still has you. You have them. You have Overwatch. You have me. You will not die soon."

Jesse quietly continued to let his emotions go, letting it all out at once-- it felt good to just unload after trying to hold it in for so long. Briefly, he wondered if Hanzo needed to do the same. He nearly lost the thought, but grabbed it before it could slip away. Slowly, he took a breath and let it out, taking in Hanzo's words. He would be sure to speak with his family soon-- but for now, he had Hanzo to focus on.

"...Are you okay?" McCree pulled away enough to make eye contact again, still holding the other's hand. "You can talk to me, I mean."

Hanzo wasn't often asked questions as simple and earnest as 'are you okay', and to hear them leave the taller man's lips actually had him pausing. He blinked, actually having to pause and think over words so rarely asked of him. "I..." He started, then shook his head as if he didn't agree what he had planned on saying. The hand not held in McCree's continued to hold his face, occasionally swiping under red-rimmed eyes to skirt away leftover tears.

"... I do not know," He finally says, eyes downcast as he speaks. "I don't know when I will. I have... been rethinking things. About us." He paused, realizing what Jesse might think of that, and hurried on to say, "I was unaware of how much you meant to me. I did not jest when I said you struck fear into a dragon. I..." His voice almost cracked, and he stubbornly fought down his insecurity. "... I have not feared in such a way in years. And that I was afraid at all still terrifies me." So this was all his way of saying he didn't know how to handle emotions. He could almost laugh at himself, were he not feeling totally lost.

"Scared me for a minute there," Jesse mused, then scooted a little closer to kiss Hanzo's forehead.

"I wanna help you learn how to deal with your feelings," he murmured. "I know it's scary as hell." He kissed his cheek, then his lips. "We can work on it together." Slowly, after a few gentle kisses, his lips moved down to Hanzo's jaw, then his neck, and his collarbones... McCree was seriously starting to enjoy himself, but moved back up and chuckled, deep and husky, into his lover's ear. "I love you."

Hanzo couldn't deny the warmth that McCree's lips brought him, scattering nervousness as well as his words did. The kisses descending he had no problem with, either, sighing pleasantly as he dipped his head back to let Jesse kiss where he pleased. Were they not in a hospital room, he might have been annoyed by the pause, but any disappointment was engulfed by that same warm, almost painful feeling clutching his heart at those words. The way he said them, breathtakingly intimate, certainly didn't help.

"Is that what love is to you, cowboy?" Hanzo asked, startling himself with how quiet and almost naive-sounding his voice came out. What was meant to me something of a mild jab instead made him sound all the more needy. "You would bear with my inability? My--" He choked on something, some emotion cutting him off that he didn't understand and couldn't quell. "My fear? It is worth it to you?"

The other's expression softened at once. "Hanzo," he began, "Love is..." McCree trailed off, struggling to find the words he wanted. "It's about... It's a commitment to someone you already know ain't perfect. It's about bein' together anyway, and helping each other to be better. It's about seein' someone's flaws and accepting them. It's about trust. I wanna make that commitment to you." He looked at Hanzo tenderly, wishing he knew what more to say. He wished there was some way he could magically heal the broken part of Hanzo's heart, he wished he could make the pain just stop, but he couldn't. Not immediately. He wanted to be with him, and to help him to heal, even if it took forever. "I wanna help you love yourself, Hanzo."

As the words spilled from Jesse's lips, poetic yet so marvelously simple, Hanzo once again found himself an odd sort of speechless. He had been tense before, with confessing his weakness and questioning the stubbornness of the American's announced love for him, but Jesse's soothing tone helped him relax some. Even if his words left Hanzo floored.

He remembered what Lena had said. About him making Jesse a better person.

"That is..." He paused. Thought. Scowled. "So cliche. A foolish scrap of cliche for a foolish man." Untangling their fingers, Hanzo took Jesse's face in both hands and pressed a long, slow kiss to his lips. When he drew back, however, he did not look particularly happy nor soothed by the gesture. His face was hard to read, but the conflict in his eyes was unhappy and uncertain. Maybe that aforementioned fear. "You've been speaking with my brother, haven't you?"

McCree didn't seem particularly pleased by the scowling and calling it cliché, so the kiss left him more confused than anything else. He sort of kissed back, but seemed unsure of if he should even do so-- was Hanzo pissed off? Had he said the wrong thing? If so, why were they kissing like this?

Still, the kiss left Jesse reeling for a few moments. Was that negativity in his expression directed towards Jesse or himself? It was impossible to tell. "Uh... Yeah, he's been my friend since he joined up a decade ago, 'course I talk to him."

One thing Jesse should not get mistaken, however, was that Hanzo had no issue with Jesse and Genji speaking. The two brothers could still be awkward around each other, the elder brother too quick to criticize and the younger too quick to sympathize. But they spent time together, and spoke civilly, and sometimes could even be seen sharing tea on a rooftop of the base. Particularly after a battle.

Hanzo's issue with McCree and his brother talking was that Genji might have infused within Jesse the idea that the Shimada exile could be forgiven for his wrongdoings.

Jesse dismissed the brief conflict, chalking it up to an inability to properly read Hanzo. Besides, he didn't feel like trying to pick every little thing apart, anymore-- he just wanted to keep going.

Hanzo pushed to fill the space between them and kissed his lover again, a little more insistently, asking for a taste of the closeness they could not properly experience. A hand settled on his back, the other holding his scruffy jaw, almost poking his tongue out between his lips before thinking better of it and pulling away. "You should focus on recovery," He said, not scowling but not smiling. All seriousness. His scarf rustled cheerfully behind him. "You do not want to prolong the healing process."

The worrying over his recovery reminded him of a nervous mother hen, and McCree couldn't help but smile a little at the comparison. "Darlin', I've been sleeping all morning. Just humor me a little and keep kissin' me?" He gave one of his best charming smiles, and leaned in to kiss Hanzo again. It was a little difficult, being propped up in bed while Hanzo sat on the side-- McCree really just wanted to climb into his lap and kiss the daylights out of him.

Someday, perhaps soon, Hanzo would be coaxed to speak about the self-loathing he had accumulated over the last ten years and only just now was understanding how to combat. But that day was not today, not when they had other things to worry about.

Like how, if no sleeping was to he had, then Hanzo had to kiss this beautiful fool of a man.

Their mouths joined once again, Hanzo craning his neck so Jesse wouldn't have to move as much. The position wasn't any good for anything besides fleeting touches of lips, however, so Hanzo nudged Jesse away so he could fill the space a little better. In one quick, fluidly graceful movement, the assassin planted a foot on the bed, swung his other leg over to plant it on the other side of the gunslinger, and knelt to straddle his hips. The smaller of the two men kept his weight on his knees in fear of harming McCree, but was happy to loom over him and allow a devilish smirk. "Better angle," Hanzo said, and kissed Jesse again, more relaxed but no less sweet than before.

"Ooh." Jesse grinned. "Risqué." Watching Hanzo climb up on top of him was no less than thrilling, and he placed his hands around Hanzo's waist, gently massaging his sides. "I'm really digging this new setup, Darlin', I hope you are too." He kissed with a bit more vigor than before, briefly wondering what direction Hanzo was planning on taking. Either way, he was pleased as punch.

Slowly, one hand trailed up from Hanzo's waist to his chest to his shoulder and finally up to his hair, where McCree toyed with the ribbon. Silently, he debated on whether or not he should pull it free and run his fingers through Hanzo's hair-- the idea was appealing, but he didn't do it.

"You talk too much," Hanzo murmured against Jesse's lips, a useless scolding accentuated by one hand - already buried in the cowboy's hair - giving his scalp a tug with a handful of the shaggy mess. The hands finding their way across his body were a blessing, and Hanzo conveyed this by pressing into them and sighing pleasantly into McCree's mouth. It wasn't loud, or brash, but Hanzo rarely was. The little expressions compared to his stoic demeanor were just enough to promise that he liked it.

When Jesse reached to toy with the ribbon, Hanzo pulled back just enough to pull the serape strip free and wrap it around his hand for safekeeping. In a bit of a dramatic flair, he shook his head and ran a hand lazily through the black-silver locks, unashamedly showing off before smiling and leaning down to capture Jesse's lips once again.

"You locked the door behind you, didn't you?" McCree watched Hanzo pull the tie free and shake his hair out like he was some sort of shampoo model. Probably an evil shampoo model that tormented innocent cowboys with his beauty. He chuckled, pressing further into the kisses. He could melt under Hanzo's touch into a puddle of goo, and he'd be fine with it-- it was thrilling, this moment.

"Yes. When can you leave this room?" Hanzo asked, voice low as if afraid someone else would hear. Then, even lower, "I want to hold you. I want to touch you."

"Then just take me."


	5. Wounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A rule is broken, tender words are exchanged over a troubling wound, and Tracer promptly crashes the party.

To watch Jesse fall apart under his fingers, gasping and needy for every bit of Hanzo he could have, was a strange type of beauty that the bowman found himself painfully addicted to. Gently, Hanzo eased him down from an orgasm that probably did no good to his heart.

Jesse gazed up at him, starry-eyed with their act of rebellion. "Howdy..."

Hanzo chuckled softly when greeted, leaning in to press their lips together briefly. If he was surprised by the salty taste still there, he did not show it. "Howdy," was his reply, the word funny-sounding from him.

"Mercy's gonna be pissed that we broke her rule immediately after she gave it to us."

"Mm, but did we _really_...?" Jesse's flustered laughter was answer enough. "You are marvelous. How do you feel?" He skimmed both hands up Jesse's sides, emphasizing that he meant how his heart felt. "So rough on yourself."

"I feel like my heart's gonna pop out of my chest," he chuckled, absolutely winded. "That was perfect." McCree took several long moments to just breathe and let his body settle down, until his heart rate felt like it was at a more comfortable speed, no longer racing. Unfortunately, as the high that their game had brought left him, stiffness settled into his body, and he shifted uncomfortably. "I'm gonna be so sore... Worth it." A pause. "Y'think you might be able to help me clean up?" He made a face as he thought about it, a little embarrassed. "Just need you to get me a bowl of warm water, some soap, and a rag. I can clean up by myself if you wanna go take care of yourself."

At the notion of McCree cleaning himself off, Hanzo snorted, shaking his head, some hair sticking to the saliva on his lips. Ew. "Do not be foolish. You are injured, so I will care for you." When they had first tried this, jerking each other off in dark corners and whatever tight space they could find, Hanzo would flee shortly afterwards, come and gone like the winds, never giving nor receiving enough that would demand lots of cleanup. The fear of affection behind the sexuality - a fear now long gone, as Hanzo crawled off the bed with a kiss goodbye and returned as quickly as he could, already dipping the handcloth in the water. Somewhere along the way, he had redressed himself from the waist up.

A second cloth was pressed into Jesse's hands, already wet but not dripping. "Face and hands," Hanzo instructed, all businesslike, even though he was skirting his fingers around Jesse's sides while wiping off his chest and stomach. "I would say none will be the wiser, but..."

"Mm." Wiping the sweat from his face already had McCree feeling much cleaner-- he let out a breath, then, and cleaned up his hands, then his neck and shoulders. They continued on in relative silence for a bit, but... McCree couldn't help but shift uncomfortably. Hanzo paused from his cleaning to look up when their silence was broken, expecting a request for another cloth or some question regarding the rest of the team. Or maybe he just wanted another kiss. "...Hanzo I need you to help me change my bandages, but that means you're gonna have to look at the wound. Entrance and exit." He didn't want anyone to see, to have to experience the pain of seeing, but he knew it had to happen anyway. "...M'sorry," he mumbled.

Hanzo was quiet for a moment, mouth a thin line of heavy thought. The apology seemed to snap him out of it, and he frowned slightly at the other man before putting the bowl and cloths away. Silently, he helped Jesse dress his bottom half, nudging the briefs and pants back up from their position half off his tan legs. It took a little while for him to speak, still considering making McCree wait for Mercy to be back. But such a punishment was not one the gunslinger had earned. "Do not apologize. I watched you bleed out into my hands; I can handle it." He didn't bother to grab either of their shirts. "Sit up."

"Mercy's damn good at her job," he murmured, sheepishly dressing himself with a bit of help from Hanzo. He propped himself up with a grunt and started to peel back the bandages, rather reluctantly.

The entrance wound wasn't pretty, but honestly rather tame. A dark circle a bit bigger than a quarter with some discoloration the size of a tennis ball around it, stitched up nicely with thread that was already beginning to dissolve. Bad initially, but a fairly easy fix for Mercy's staff. McCree twisted his body with a cringe to get the thick pads of gauze off of his back-- the exit wound was ugly. Big, about the size of a volleyball, starry-shaped and fanning out across his skin. There must have been a skin graft, scar tissue generated, something. A chunk of him had been missing, after all. It was bloody and painful, a wide scar that wouldn't go ignored.

The entrance wound was easy to look upon, if not a bit painful in memory. The bullet of a rifle was no laughing matter, but at least the entrance was clean despite the chestplate's obstruction. It was a damn good shot, but not good enough. The luck of a scoundrel knew no bounds. The blowout was... another story. Ugly, raw, harsh against the rest of his skin. A reminder of that mission that neither of them would never be able to fully escape.

Instinctively, McCree turned away from Hanzo, not exactly eager to let him see it. Jesse tilted his head, hair draping in a thick curtain along the side of his face so he wouldn't have to make eye contact. He didn't know what to say.

The mix of feelings boiling in Hanzo's stomach - pain, anger, self-loathing, horror - were hastily pushed down when the man turned away, more ashamed of his wound than he'd been of being naked and begging for contact. It was starkly different from how they had been not long ago, and comparing them only steeled the Shimada's resolve. The injury had been his fault, not Jesse's; neither of them could change that, but they could try to move on from it.

If only Hanzo took his own advice. One hand lifted to the side of Jesse's face, guiding it back so their eyes met, if the gunslinger allowed it. Hanzo was not smiling, but calm determination had settled in his features. "Let me see," was all he said - it was not a question, yet his tone was softer and gentler than perhaps it ever had been.

"...Okay." Jesse trusted Hanzo with everything-- it would be alright. He was aware of his own drastic change in demeanor, and it discomforted him just as much. Seeking Hanzo's attention, begging to be touched and admired, and then just minutes later, ashamed to so much as grace the other's presence, wanting to hide his body away.

He opened himself back up and set the soiled bandages aside for now. "...Once it's healed, you can touch the scars if you want. Kiss 'em, even. Might be therapeutic." McCree offered the idea softly, then kissed his cheek. "Hanzo... No te culpes..."

Relieved beyond words when McCree turned to him again, slowly opening himself up to the ex-yakuza, Hanzo let the hand slip from his face to instead reach back for the needed supplies. When he looked back, he was rewarded with a kiss on the cheek, that sweet spur of romantic humor and the language that made his mind melt. Sighing like the weight of the world was being eased from his shoulders, he inhaled deeply, gripping the roll of bandaging too fiercely.

"What does that mean?" Hanzo's voice almost broke - almost - before he got a hold of himself, walking around just to look at the other man's back. His chest hurt. His eyes burned. He hated it, but it was undeniable. "No tay... that."

"No te culpes," he repeated, softly. "Don't blame yourself." McCree sat patiently, gradually relaxing. "My Ma was born in Mexico. Didn't speak much English-- still doesn't." He thought about her, still intending to make that phone call.

"She was real poor, raised my brothers and sisters by herself." He found himself craving a cigarillo to relax, but suppressed it. "I started working when I was a little kid-- small things here and there to help her put dinner on the table. The Deadlock Gang wanted a few sneaky little shits like me to smuggle things and they paid well-- I didn't know any better. Joined 'em at thirteen, sent all the money I could home."

Thirteen. Hanzo knew that Jesse had joined the criminal life early, and thanks to yesterday, knew that he was saved from a life in prison by the man who was then Commander Reyes. But _thirteen_. Perhaps he had no place to speak on such matters; by the time he was thirteen, he was being trained in four different types of assassination weaponry, as well as investing himself in the politics of the Shimada-gumi. He was to be a lord, and no lord was made overnight. But Jesse had acted of his own free will, to pick up a weapon and kill. At _thirteen_. All for his family.

Jesse let out a long breath. "The point is that she's a good person. Real understanding." He glanced back at Hanzo, then forward again. "If we get much more serious than this, I'd really like for you to meet her."

"I cannot understand the kind of connection you both have." Hanzo stood behind McCree, examining the wound, forcing himself not to turn away. He would have to be used to seeing it often - especially if he assisted Mercy like this again. "My own family was... well. You can imagine."

"...I know."

He thought of Genji, of the elders snarling at him to cage his sparrow of a brother, and added more quietly, "I would be honored to meet her. Straighten your posture; I am about to put these on."

After a moment he asked, watching McCree's shoulder muscles move as he sat up better, "Tell me about your family." They were obviously important to him; no reason why Hanzo oughtn't know.

"I'm the oldest of five-- two little brothers and two little sisters. The girls, twins, were just little babies when I was thirteen. Dad left and she had to raise us, but couldn't feed everyone by herself. If babies don't eat, they ain't gonna grow. If it meant food for them, shit, I'd do anything for that. We lived in the ass-end of nowhere, and there's no law left around Deadlock Gorge. Just guns."

He sat quietly for a moment. " I hope they grew up alright. The girls have gotta be... Mm, twenty seven. My brothers are... Um... Thirty and thirty two?" He had a hard time remembering, honestly. "Deadlock Gorge is quieter now than it used to be, safer. Less gang activity after Overwatch cleaned most of us out."

Hanzo listened in attentive silence as he began to redress the wound, careful as could be as he wrapped the bandaging several times around McCree's chest. It was a relief, albeit a small one, to cover up the reminders of the day before. They could almost - almost - pretend that it didn't happen this way.

Once they were done - McCree speaking, Hanzo bandaging - the shorter of the two didn't fetch their shorts or retie his hair just yet. Instead, he let his arms snake around the other man's waist from behind to hug him around his middle. Forehead bumping lightly against Jesse's shoulder, Hanzo closed his eyes for a moment to relish a companion with whom he felt no strain in casual contact. Easy affection.

"Do you know where they are?" Jesse had mentioned calling his mother - nothing about his siblings. Maybe they all went their separate ways. "They would want to know you're alive."

"Ma would know. I don't. I just... Mm." He closed his eyes when Hanzo embraced him, savoring the affection-- he placed his hands over the other's and turned his head to nuzzle gently against his love. "It's alright. We'll figure it out, she's a good lady. I think that's likely enough of that sob story for now."

He guided one of Hanzo's hands up to his chest, pressing it gently over his heart to feel the beating. "I'm still here for you. I'm not going to leave, I want you to know that." McCree squeezed his other hand a bit. "I wish I could do more for you," he mourned, softly. "You don't deserve to be in pain like this."

The heartbeat under Hanzo's hand caused his fingers to curl loosely, his breath catching slightly against Jesse's shoulder at the taller man's words. Silent for now, Hanzo cursed himself for being so damn susceptible. Jesse knew exactly how to make him unwind, both in the bed and outside of it. It was almost frightening, how well he'd let the other know him. And there was still so much he hadn't said.

"You are here." His hold tightened, just barely - not enough to hurt, just reassure. Like he wondered if Jesse would wriggle free without the hand tight over his belly. "There is no more I could ask for. My pain will heal, as will yours." A weak smile was pressed against Jesse's shoulder in the form of a small chaste kiss. "It is the nature of wounds, Jesse. Worry a little more about yourself."

"I love you," he breathed, becoming more comfortable with saying it, though it still made his heart race. He kept Hanzo's hand over his chest, wanting him to know how it made him feel. He hoped that it didn't cause any discomfort in the other, but he wasn't sure-- Hanzo hadn't said it back, but Jesse respected that. He deserved time and comfort.

The words - words so shocking and almost scandalous at first, now seeming to roll out of Jesse's lips on the fly - made Hanzo's fingers curl just a hair tighter, a gesture of silent possessiveness and satisfaction. While Hanzo could be unclear about what it was he liked, it was obvious when he disliked something. Jesse announcing love was certainly not something he disliked.

"Thanks for bandaging me." He turned to kiss the side of Hanzo's head.

"You are a sap, Jesse McCree," He chided, his tone utterly fond. "I-" He started, but something cut him off. Something in his mind spitting resistance and frustration, something freezing up in his gut and cutting off his air for that single phrase. He did not even know if he was going to say it, but the possibility had been enough to cause him stress that never reached the surface. Hastily, he covered his mistake, and it was like it had never been there. "If you will not rest, you should call your family. Tell them of your life." Then, maybe a little hopeful amusement in his voice, "Tell your mother about me."

"I..." McCree hesitated. "...I think I want to be alone for that," he admitted. "I don't know how it's gonna go." It scared the shit out of him to think about it, but he refused to say that aloud. "It'll probably take a couple hours, if we're bein' honest. We got a lot to catch up on." He didn't know how to feel about it at all. Hopeful? Maybe.

Hanzo would be fine with leaving Jesse alone for the conversation long overdue, but to hear that it would take /hours/ made him pause, clearly surprised to hear it. "Hours," He repeated, as if unsure he was hearing properly. Of course he was in no place to chastise Jesse, but still. "When was the last time you two spoke?"

The fingers around McCree's middle and heart slipped free as Hanzo spoke, and he bent down to get both their shirts. He didn't bother putting his on, though, just placing them on the bed. His hair was still down - another thing he did nothing about.

"Before the Recall," he answered. "Between the fall of Overwatch and the Recall, as far as the world was concerned, Jesse McCree was a murderous criminal, sixty million dollars on his head. I did some mercenary work, stopped as much injustice as I could, and the media blamed me for all the shit I tried to stop. I felt bad showing up on the crime channel all the time, knowing that she could see it." He recalled the time with the train, making a bit of a face. "It's been about a year, I think."

A year. Well, that was better than the ten years Hanzo went without contacting any of his own family. Then again, it was different when they'd raised you to be close and connected, and they hadn't exiled you, or fought you to the death.

He turned his attention away from that and quietly thanked Hanzo for getting his shirt, then ran his fingers through that gorgeous black hair. "...Thanks for letting me talk about it. I don't really get to."

He really had to stop comparing his family to Jesse's, he mused as he tilted his head unabashedly into the big, warm hands. McCree had always been warm to the touch, and sometimes Hanzo just couldn't help but savor it, bask in whatever warmth was offered like a spoiled cat. Sighing through barely-parted lips, he replied, "I have lamented to you about Genji enough times. It is the least I could do."

When Jesse's hand got too close, the Shimada took an uncharacteristically impulsive decision and turned his head, pressing his lips against the other's palm. A fleeting reminder of affection, a quiet return of the warmth as he spoke in a soft murmur. "I have stolen plenty of your time. If you wish to call her now, you can."

The kiss against his palm made his heart swell with affection. "I love you," he repeated, and he meant it. "I... I think I need some time alone. I'll let you know when I'm ready, okay?" He kissed Hanzo, tenderly, gently, as if it were the last time he ever would. After a long moment, he pulled back. "I'll be here if you need me for anything. Anything at all. You've been cooped up in here with me all day, go stretch your legs." He smiled, tossed Hanzo's shirt at him, and handed him his new hair ribbon.

Hanzo took no offense to the request for solitude, knowing he asked for it often enough himself. Even so, he pressed into the kiss, greedy for the affection but not pushing for more contact. The taste of his partner lingered on his mouth when he drew back, and the sight of his new hair ribbon made him smile.

He was still going to get so many looks for wearing it. The thought was both vaguely mortifying and highly encouraging.

"Do not hesitate to summon me." Then he turned around and headed for the door, pulling his hair up while he did so. Hopefully Jesse would find some solace in speaking to his family.

Hanzo only wished he could do the same. The words _'I love you'_ rang in his ears. As soon as he was out the door, he scowled, mouthing them over and over in Japanese. He needed some time in the practice range.

Unfortunately, Hanzo couldn't seem to land himself much privacy - it was only a few seconds after he'd tied his hair back up and begun walking that he was interrupted again. "Hey!" Tracer's voice rang through the hall, and she blinked to Hanzo. "Winston sent me to check on you both a while ago. Is everything okay? How is Jesse?" She looked at him with big eyes, honestly concerned. A friendly face, but even so, Hanzo found himself unwanting of her company. Good will could only be appreciated for so long.

"McCree was emotionally unstable," He said - not actually a lie. "He wanted privacy. Athena complied. He is fine now, but may be in a phone call with his family."

"Mercy will be back later tonight, so you don't have to worry about him very much longer." She smiled a little. "I know this has been hard for you. If you wanna, like... talk about it to someone besides Jesse, I'm here."

He frowned slightly, then relaxed his gaze and added, with maybe a touch more steel to his tone, "I am fine. I was not the one injured yesterday." Then again, the red fluttering behind him suggested that he indeed had been.

"You don't have to be fine, you know?" A meek pause. "...Well, alright."

 _You don't have to be fine,_ she said. That made him pause, striking a nerve but not in the way that would make him lash out. He didn't have to be fine to be looked to, loved, respected. It went against everything he'd been told when he was a young man. She was wrong, Hanzo decided. Very wrong.

"I... I have to ask... Are you two, um." Lena gestured vaguely with her hands, unsure of herself. "Everyone kind of wants to know." She gave a nervous little laugh, silently hoping that that was okay to ask. "Genji is excited about it, actually! Just don't be surprised if Jack is sort of fussy about his 'fraternization' rules or whatever. It's sort of rubbish anyway, so don't worry." She made big air quotes around the word with her fingers and smiled, shaking her head. "The point is that if you and Jesse are an item now, we're happy for you!"

When asked if they were an item, Hanzo was about to hesitate, when he remembered the serape strip working as his hair scarf. The fact that he'd been in there with Jesse for over an hour, holding him, kissing him, leaning into him, struggling with emotions long past control. He remembered how damn pleased McCree would be if everyone knew.

Sigh.

"... Yes. We are an 'item'." He grimaced as he added, somewhat comically, "I do not look forward to my brother and commander's reactions." After a moment of hesitation, the archer added, "Genji had no concept of when to stop teasing when he was young. He is probably still the same way." Hell, if he was already talking to her like this, might as well express himself. "Fucking hell."

Oh man. "Don't worry about it," she declared. "It'll all be alright!" Lena glanced around, realizing that Hanzo probably had somewhere to go. "I'll leave you to it, then. If you need me, I'll be in the lounge-- cheers!" Tracer beamed at him, and blinked away.

You knew it was a bad time when Hanzo Shimada swore. He seemed to regain his composure quickly enough, though, letting Lena blink off without so much as a scathing response to her abounding cheer. It was almost annoying, how contagious her happiness was. He was quick to brush it off, though, not wanting to think on it too much.

With McCree calling his mother and the rest of the team not too appealing to talk to at the moment, Hanzo continued his original mission: practice.

Practice in a weak attempt to shove off the emotions of earlier.


	6. Talk About It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They talk about anything that comes to mind. Night terrors and family, music and changes in scenery.

Hanzo ended up working late into the night, arrows flying long past everyone else had gone off to bed and almost into the morning. By the end of it he was working almost mechanically, robotically, sweating and breathing heavily but never giving himself leave. Realigning himself with the world.

It didn't calm him down. Neither did sleeping, once he finally went to bed at three in the morning. He knew Jesse said hadn't been his fault, yet over and over again he saw it. The blood, the raspy profession of love, the cowboy's face as he fell.

So, with sleep and discipline proving to be of no help, and a cigarette only making his throat itch after too long dry, and the alcohol mysteriously missing (he blamed Jesse), Hanzo went to the one thing left.

It was probably too early in the morning, with everyone else eating breakfast as he went to the medbay and approached the good doctor. "Dr. Zielger. Is McCree awake?"

"Good morning, Hanzo." She greeted him with a small smile. "Yes, McCree has been awake since..." Mercy paused, looking over her screen. "...Around five in the morning, I believe. I'm surprised, but I trust he has his reasoning. I was going to check on him, but perhaps you'd like to do that for me?" Angela nodded towards Hanzo.

Five in the morning. His brow furrowed slightly, and he absentmindedly lifted a hand to the tail of his new hair ribbon, soft against his shoulder where it happened to have rested. Even though Mercy had washed it before Hanzo had stolen it away, it still carried the faintest smell of McCree. Of cigars and big spaces and the sun and sky and his hair.

Maybe he was just imagining it.

"I can check on him," He confirmed, stepping past her when permitted to open the door without knocking or hesitation.

McCree had been on the phone with his mother for several hours after Hanzo had left-- emotionally drained, he'd gone to sleep and been roused from his slumber at around five by more unpleasant dreams. Knowing he wouldn't be able to get back to sleep, McCree had asked Athena very nicely to get the television running for him, and there he had sat, hugging his pillow close to his chest and watching old western films. It was therapeutic, watching the movies he'd grown up on, and so he'd done it a dozen times, never growing tired of them.

His breath caught in his throat despite itself when he say Jesse, and Hanzo realized just how worried he'd been. Damn.

"Sleep evaded you?" He asked, skipping over the greeting as he walked up to the bed. He hand moved of its own accord, easily reaching to slide up Jesse's cheek and cup his handsome, scruffy jaw. It was a much better greeting than a 'good morning', he decided.

"Mmm." Jesse closed his eyes, silently cherishing the affection. "Yeah... Had a bad dream again, decided to watch some westerns that I loved when I was a kid. Helps me feel better."

He'd grown up on Clint Eastwood, High Noon, Tombstone... He'd watched cowboys in shiny spurs deliver their own personal brands of justice. Not paragons of virtue, not angelic and pure in their actions, but... Inclined towards justice. Not perfect men, no, but men that held up their honor and did the right thing. Realistic heroes, the kind that he liked to think maybe he had grown up into. Not perfect, a little rough around the edges, but still good.

It pleased McCree to be likened to that spectacular image of a cowboy, dispensing justice and mercy in equal measure.

Turning his head from looking at his lover to watching the American movies, Hanzo tilted his head slightly, observing the do-gooders and their merciless butchering of the English language. Eastwood was the only name he actually knew, but he knew there to be others. Gary Cooper, Randolph Scott. The cowboy thing had been popular as all hell, and still wasn't completely out of style, thanks to recent releases.

But nothing like the classics. As a stickler for tradition, Hanzo was in no place to mock another for appreciating the past.

The hand on McCree's cheek slipped behind his head, gently scratching through the hair at the nape of his neck. Their eyes met again, and Hanzo chided gently, "Next time, call me. I would not mind." A memory returned to him, and he asked, "How did the call go?"

"Pretty well," he murmured, giving a nervous little laugh. "She was so excited to hear that I had a boyfriend, wanted to hear all about you." His cheeks flushed and he scratched a little at his beard, toying with the memory. "She called me her chiquito and asked a million questions. 'Dónde lo conociste,' 'Quizás en Overwatch,' all that... Asked what you look like, I told her, she thinks you sound real cute." Jesse's blush brightened a bit. "I love my Ma, but she's so... Y'know... Motherly. Immediately asked me if she's gonna get grandbabies."

Hanzo felt his expression turn fond as McCree described the call with his mother. How she was so pleased to hear about her son finding somebody, so happy to learn about him and talk to her son. It was worlds away from his own family - even now, his reforging relationship with Genji was not so easy and natural. They definitely wouldn't talk about things like boyfriends.

At least, Hanzo wouldn't. Genji seemed happy to talk about plenty of things.

The mention of grandchildren actually pulled a laugh from Hanzo - a rare sight even to those closest to him. It rose from his chest and into his broadening smile easily, without effort, amused and entirely pleased. Fond. "I expect to meet her someday, Jesse." Again with the first name. It was too easy to say, smooth on his tongue and pleasant on the mind. "Any news of your siblings?"

"Mmm... Well, there's five of us; from oldest to youngest, there's me, Joseph, Judah, Jackie, and Jillian," he explained, counting off on his fingers. "Joseph is married to a real sweet lady, and they've got a little boy. Judah is single and has a little girl. The twins, Jackie and Jillian, are still datin' around. Jillian apparently had a real cute girfriend for a while, but they broke it off according to Ma." He gave Hanzo a little smile. "Pa insisted we all had American names, and Ma went along with it. Really liked how 'J' sounds in English, thought it was cute."

Jesse tried to imagine how a meeting with them might go-- his mother hadn't gone into huge detail about his siblings. It was impossible to sum something so complicated up. "The girls are world travelers. Joseph and his little family are trying to settle down somewhere. Judah and his little girl wandered for a bit, but they've moved in with Ma to help her out. She's gettin' old."

Hanzo's face was calm as the other man spoke, but his kind was whirring in an attempt to memorize all the information he was getting. The names he would mess up, but as long as he got the facts in order, he believed he would be fine. Traveling twins, settling couple, and three generations under one roof. A whole lot of Js. He ran them over and over in his head, dedicating them to memory, wondering how he was ever going to remember it all. At least he and his single other sibling had different sounds in their names. He figured Jesse wouldn't mind.

"Move." Whether or not Jesse complied, Hanzo sat next to him, not objecting if he had to hang half off the bed. Their clothed shoulders pressed against one another, and Hanzo was reminded of how unusual it still was to him. This casual contact. McCree scooted over to allow Hanzo more room, and kissed his cheek affectionately. The casual element was ultimately calming to him, and he cherished it. "My mother died when I was very young. I do not recall much about her." Hanzo's gaze followed the steps of the cowboy on the screen. "How did you reconcile with her? After leaving the Deadlock?"

"We didn't for a long time. It wasn't until after she started to see me turn my life around with Overwatch that she gave me a little piece of trust back. It took us a long time, and things still aren't perfect, but she's a sweetheart and generous enough to give her no-good son a second chance." He took Hanzo's hand tenderly, lacing their fingers together. "If you're comfortable with it, I'd like to hear a little bit about your family."

Hanzo was hesitant to share information about his own family. He'd told bits and pieces over time, snippets of his time as the heir to an empire, but never proper stories. Never anything to make himself vulnerable. So he stalled, snorting softly and tightening his fingers around Jesse's. The differences between their hands, from color to size to shape, was oddly mesmerizing. Two men that couldn't be more different, brought together by powers greater than chance. Perhaps fate. "So vague," He all but scolded, leaning a little on the other man's shoulder. "We would be here for days. Tell me what you wish to know, and I will tell it."

"What were you like as a kid? Similar, probably, but you couldn't have been exactly the same as you are now." He made a little humming noise as he thought, rolling ideas around until he found more questions that appealed to him. "I know Genji played video games, what about your hobbies? Did the whole clan raise you, or your parents, or..." They were innocent questions, borne of pure curiosity and a genuine desire to learn any interesting little tidbits Hanzo would give him-- a lot of those put together really helped to bring a vague idea to life. "Ramble if you want, that's what I did."

McCree offered lots of questions, but Hanzo had plenty of time to answer them. Mercy seemed in no rush to shoo him out, probably recognizing the positive effect the archer had on her patient. So he answered each one, slowly. "I could not say what I was 'like'. Less..." Haunted? Jaded? "... I could not say. Things were simpler then. My path had been carved for me before I was born. I did not think to step away from it. I had little time for hobbies, being tailored into the next Shimada leader. I was raised by my father and the clan elders - as my mentors and tutors, not as my family." He drew in a breath through his teeth, slow and restrained. "I was not granted time to pursue my own interests. My interests were meant to be perfectly aligned with the clan's. It was..." He paused, wondering. It was dangerous, deadly at times. It was luxurious. It was seclusive. It was watching Genji, jealousy and disdain breeding contempt.

"... Lonely." Hanzo swallowed, suddenly aware of the lump in his throat. "It was very lonely."

Jesse's heart swelled at the thought of Hanzo feeling so alone for so long. "You have us now," he murmured-- in the back of his mind he noted that Mercy had just slipped out of the room to give them privacy in the personal moment. "...What do you like to do when you're on your own? You keep a lot of yourself all locked up in there, tighter than a clam," McCree joked, nervously.

It was true - Hanzo had people now. He was not alone anymore, and certainly not lonely, with people like Lena and Jesse and Genji reminding him that he was genuinely cared for here. But not every shadow from the past could be kicked, which was made clear when Hanzo said, "I train. I exercise. I mend my weapons and armor. I better myself." It was all he'd ever known, toiling away at every detail and imperfection, striving for the impossible. Only recently had he let himself open up. He added, after a moment, voice softer, "And I spend time with you. And Genji."

"Hell, um, do you listen to very much music? I love music." Jesse grinned as his imagination led him to the thought of trying to introduce Hanzo to his tastes. McCree had learned the hard (or hilarious) way that he didn't care for western or country, but maybe he would like something else. Admittedly, he himself enjoyed a fair amount of ragtime, saloon-style music that made you want to get up and swing. "We could dance. Not now, I mean, I can hardly walk. But still, we can find something to do together."

Hanzo was surprised by the next suggestion. "Do you know _how_ to dance?" He questioned, then added, " _Properly_ , not stumbling in unison."

McCree laughed nervously. "Um. I can swing dance, that's about it." How familiar was Hanzo with the genre? It had boomed about a century ago, and trickled out. "It's real fun, but takes a lot of practice. I used to do it all the time with the ladies in the Deadlock Gang-- they loved it, and as long as we had a radio we had all the entertainment we needed." He grinned at the memory, holding it fondly.

"Swing dance?" All Hanzo could imagine was a pack of leather-toting cowboys grasping each other's arms and swinging in a wild, unstoppable circle, some bizarre banjo twang in the background as they spun faster and faster with more mad abandon. It wasn't a pretty image. Hanzo had been taught some dancing - no more than necessary, but enough to be as graceful at galas and balls as he was with a bow. But he would give Jesse the benefit of the doubt, which was more than he gave most people. "Hmm." He sounded disapproving, skeptical at best, but then said, "You will have to teach me, then. Maybe to different music." Or at least, not the absurd banjitar-wielded twang-bellowing nonsense McCree had tried and failed to introduce him to. As if wishing to apologize for the insult to the music, he used one hand to tilt Jesse's head towards him, and filled the space between them easily. The kiss was chaste, but lingering, savoring the moment.

McCree kissed back, but couldn't hold his laughter in long enough for it to last. "You don't even actually know what swing is, do you?" Judging by that expression, no, probably not. "Y'know, think... Like... 1940s. Lots of jazzy brass music. Swing dancing is real fun, I swear-- you swing back and forth a lot, twirl your partner, and when you get in lots of practice you can start doin' sweeps and flips. It's great." He struggled to explain it with hand gestures, but gave up with that rather quickly and just kissed him again.

"The 1940s," Hanzo echoed, disbelieving, lips moving against Jesse's as he spoke until they drew back. No, Hanzo didn't have a clue what swing was. Shimmying away to music over on hundred years old seemed odd, compared to the new music constantly being released (not that Hanzo listened to the new stuff, but even traditional music could appreciate a modern flair). A smirk tugged one corner of his mouth as he retorted wrly, "I know what jazz is. I did not expect you to have an interest in history." Well, he... sort of knew jazz. He'd listened to a handful of songs here and there, bits and pieces of popular tunes he would come to vaguely recognize. Lucio's audio-medical work forced the team to be up to date on music-based things now and again - either a good thing or a bad one, depending on you asked.

"Have you seen Deadlock Gorge? People used to travel on the road that goes through it, Route 66, like hell. It was a real hotspot, but after bein' left alone for decades 'cause nobody goes there anymore, Deadlocks set up shop. Everything was outdated by decades, and we found a lot of really, really old music." He explained, thinking back. Route 66 had been the hottest trail in North America, but as far as this century was concerned, it was virtually abandoned. "It was old school, but we thought that was kinda neat."

"Fine. Teach me, when you are liberated from this place." Hanzo wrinkled his nose slightly as he looked around the space. It was, of course, perfectly clean. Perfectly white and smooth and comforting. Exactly as it had been for the last two days. The man needed fresh air soon, certainly. He reminded himself to ask later.

"I learned traditional and ballroom dance, for outings." He wasn't sure why he was telling another piece from his past, but Jesse had seemed interested before, so what harm could it do? "It was for courtesy and tradition, not enjoyment. But I did not loathe it." Pausing, Hanzo seemed to mull over it, an image popping up in his brain that was much funnier than swing: Jesse in a ballroom, suit and tie, twirling some business partner. Or even better: Jesse in a yukata, moving to a fan dance, likely tripping on his toes. "If you will gain the amusement of watching me try to dance, I will teach you a dance as well."

He had no idea what was running through Hanzo's mind, but McCree tried to imagine the sort of ballroom dancing that had been described. He wasn't too successful, instead imagining the sort of stand-and-sway dance that was always geared more towards conversation than actual dancing. "That'd be nice," he mused, smiling to himself. "You and me, some slow music, and a bottle of cheap wine. Standin' in the middle of the bedroom, just kinda... Swayin' back and forth." The idea struck him as something that only dorky romantic couples did, which naturally made it absolutely perfect.

As McCree talked old-timey magic captured from a time long gone, and ballroom dancing like an old couple reminiscing on younger days together, Hanzo found himself resting his head on the other's shoulder, eyes half-closed, breathing in his scent and only slightly watching the movie in front of him. Despite Dr Zielger's work, and the sanitized space, the smells of smoke and open spaces still clung to him, just under the surface, comforting and familiar. Perhaps too familiar, but at moments like these, the Shimada couldn't be convinced to care.

"We would not drink _cheap wine_ , Jesse McCree," He all but scolded, although the mental image was... nice. The warmth of a body against his and a fainted buzzedness making the half-clumsy steps of the dance seem smooth as silk. "And we do not _sway_ in a proper dance. Even if you will not wear a gown or kimono, you will dance properly. With good drink." A grin threatened to show itself again. "Though, you do not have to wear a dress."

"There's somethin' nice about cheap wine and lazy swaying, Hanzo." He laughed to himself. "It's that simple sort of thing that you'd never enjoy on your own, but then you try it with a person you love and you wanna do it all day." Lovingly, McCree wrapped his arms around Hanzo and held him, craving the intimacy that the gesture brought. "I ain't gonna be able to dance for real for a long while, darlin'. Better get used to it," he teased. "Right now I'm at more of a wobble. Not even a walk."

He thought about a proper dance, the kind Hanzo had been taught-- that felt worlds away from his own experience. "The day I wear a dress is the day you put on a pair of chaps. Possible, but not without an equal trade." He missed his chaps, honestly. There was something about the leathery smell and texture that he really enjoyed. "Speakin' of clothes," McCree began, "I feel naked without my serape. Need to get a new one." He thought it over-- where would he get a new serape like the last one? It had been ruined by the gunshot. Briefly, he entertained the idea of calling his mother. It hung there for a moment, uncertain.

Hanzo still seemed skeptical about the promises behind cheap wine and swaying in soft unison, but didn't push it. Thinking about it might make him want to try it, and it seemed much too undignified. Then again, so did pressing softly into the arms wrapping around him, and smiling at the thought of wearing chaps of all things (gods no), and humming in gentle understanding when McCree lamented his entire lack of serape. Besides the strip of it in the archer's hair, the old thing could very well be beyond saving. A shame.

"You could mend it," He pointed out, though he didn't have a clue about the nature of such items, or if mending them was acceptable. Maybe it had reached a point of no return. Hanzo didn't ask just yet, though, instead carding the fingers of one hand through Jesse's hair and mulling over what had been said earlier. Barely a wobble. It must be agonizing here in the hours of solitude when none of the encouraging Overwatch members were visiting, nothing else to stare at besides what had been stared at so many times already.

Yes, that settled it.

Shoving aside the lingering, pleasant thoughts of swaying back and forth in a softly-lit room, and buying serapes at some absurd cowboy store, Hanzo said with a sort of determination that would take more than Mercy's words to disrupt, "You need a change in scenery. Let us leave this room. The others will be pleased." And he would be embarrassed, with the color tying his hair. But fuck it all.

McCree's face lit up at the proposal-- he wanted to get out of there. "I like the way you think! There should be a wheelchair in there, behind that door--" he pointed-- "but before we go I gotta do this." Gently, tenderly, he kissed Hanzo and let out a small sigh through his nose, head tilting for a better angle.

The kiss surprised Hanzo, but that hardly meant he couldn't appreciate it. He leaned into it instinctively, welcoming and encouraging the gesture, eyes closing for a brief moment as he savored the taste and feeling of it. Something to savor, to devote to memory, even if it had to end before too awfully long. The kiss deepened, and they savored it for a long moment before breaking away.

"Didn't know if you wanted me kissin' you out there, figured I should get a real good one in before we go." Satisfied with the playful moment, he shot Hanzo a wink and shifted to sit on the side of the bed, feet on the floor.

"They will know the truth, anyway." But Jesse was right - not in public, not yet. Perhaps not ever. Jesse had helped break down the Shimada's barriers, but some things were just principle. Public displays of affection were obviously not much his schtick, though the kiss he placed on the other man's cheek could convince otherwise. "Let me find the chair."

He rose fully from the bed then, already having begun to stand up to give the other room to swing around. The chair was found, Dr. Zielger nowhere to be seen, and Hanzo was half-tempted to run off with her patient without even telling her. He'd make the proposition after, he decided, as he moved the device to the side of the bed. Looked at Jesse. Paused. Grumbled something that sounded almost like 'to hell'. Then reached over, scooping Jesse into his arms bridal style as he moved the taller man to the device.

Jesse was thrilled by the change, swept off his feet quite literally, and into Hanzo's arms. "Oooh, Mr. Shimada," he crooned, pretending to swoon-- a hand lifted to his brow to accentuate the theatric effect. "I reckon I've just been whisked away by a real live samurai in shining armor." He settled into the chair nicely and stretched his legs out-- it felt incredible. "God, I'm hungry."

Even if he rolled his eyes as he settled Jesse in the chair, as if exasperated with the man's theatrics, there was a smile that refused to leave his face as he ensured the man was seated and settled properly. "Of course you would think of food," He drily remarked, about to turn and go find Mercy when the doctor found them instead.

Mercy returned with an armful of documents and a touchpad, frowning at the sight of her patient in the wheelchair. "Hanzo," she started, carefully, "You can take McCree for now but he needs to be back here within the next few hours for his injections. I've lined up a series of them for his back that will be rather hard on his body, so please make sure he gets something substantial to eat and relaxes."

He bowed to her, the gesture easy now. At first he had been wary of her, suspicious to say the least, her dabbling with death's permanence unsettling. She had secrets. But she had saved Genji and McCree and the archer himself enough times that she deserved at least the formalities. "Of course," He replied, the weight of honesty in his words. Jesse's recovery, after all, was not worth jeopardizing for the sake of one day outside. "You have my word, doctor." He was clearly impatient to go, though, one hand resting easily on Jesse's shoulder, the other dancing near one of the handles of the chair. Of course it had its own controllability, which McCree would likely try to abuse. But until he did, Hanzo would be content with pushing him.

Which was exactly what he did. Out, into the halls, towards the mess hall where the others would be finishing their morning meals.


	7. Meal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A meal is shared between friends, and a silent moment of relaxation is found between lovers.

McCree was thankful for the change of scenery-- after a rather meek goodbye from Mercy, she turned to get to work, and they left for breakfast. Almost immediately, his presence was greeted by a chorus of 'Good morning's and 'Jesse's and other excited exclamations. Feeling a little bashful at the sudden affection, he just gave a laugh and a wave. "Howdy."

While Hanzo knew the response to seeing Jesse again would be overwhelmingly positive - not that he'd gone unvisited in the medbay, of course - the archer didn't expect such a vibrant round of welcomes and smiles. Even their former Commander, back against the wall as he spoke to Mei, paused to flash them both a smile and "Welcome back, cowboy," while the climatologist gasped and beamed.

Reinhardt let out a roar of a laugh and pounded his fist against the table, making the entire thing clatter. "Ahh, the wounded hero returns! Herzlich willkommen!"

"McCree! Haha, we totally thought you were, like, dead or something. I was gonna dedicate my next stream to you." Hana waved from the end of the table, clicking away at her handheld game. "You look like you got hit by a bus. I'm gonna be real."

"We did _not_ think he was dead," Lúcio sighed, pulling one earbud out. "Ey, man, you seem tired. Grab some breakfast and jam with me." He removed his headphone jack from his phone, and started playing one of the two tracks he regularly blasted during battle, 'Rejuvenescência.' The soothing feeling was pretty immediate.

It was all quite unusual for Hanzo. Especially when a few eyes wandered, to the red tie in his hair and his hands on the wheelchair. Looking, cluing in, knowing that which was so proudly displayed. He lifted his chin, a note of pride rather than a challenge, and did not speak unless spoken to. Thank god McCree was getting the attention.

And thank god Genji was nowhere to be seen, likely off to meditate with his omnic mentor, else Hanzo would be getting the biggest shit-eating grin a faceless cyborg could manage.

"I will get you something to eat," He said to Jesse, positioning the chair next to Lúcio before turning to head to the kitchen. Several eyes watched him go, then swiveled back to Jesse, tiredness quite gone from their eyes at the sight of their teammate looking so well.

And, of course, the new gossip.

Surprisingly, Pharah was the first to speak. "How did you manage _that_ , Jesse?" Normally Fareeha wouldn't be the one to comment on such things. But there she was, shoulder-length hair pulled back into a messy tail, knowing smirk bright on her features. "Of all people, _him_?"

"What can I say?" Jesse's eyes lingered on Hanzo as he left. Nice ass. "I'm a real lucky guy. He's, ah..." He thought for a long moment, about every little tender exchange, every time they'd laced fingers, every little kiss and gasp and every time bare skin had met in a moment of sweet bliss. "He's really something."

Slipping back into the teasing mood, he grinned at Fareeha and wiggled his eyebrows. "Save a horse, right?"

"Oh my god!" Tracer slapped at McCree's shoulder and he laughed, covering his face with one hand. "You are _terrible_!"

Had Hanzo heard Jesse's teasing comment, he probably would have dumped his breakfast over his hatless head. But he was just out of earshot, thankfully, while Lúcio choked on his coffee and Fareeha threw back her head and laughed. "She's right," The tall woman complained, shaking her head even while smiling. "Absolutely terrible."

"Sheesh, Eastwood," was Lúcio's contribution, but it was clear the whole table - even Jack - had found it funny.

Hanzo, on the other hand, had no idea why everyone was stifling laughter when he returned. A plate was set out for Jesse, then one for Hanzo, and he sat down next to the cowboy with a look of mild confusion. "What is so funny?" He asked, looking around the table, almost afraid of the answer he would receive.

"Oh, nothin', darlin'." He grinned, silently wishing for a kiss, but he didn't expect one. "You're a sweetheart for getting me food. Thanks."

Hanzo didn't seem too convinced by McCree's answer - especially when his eyes darted around the room, the dragon turned skittish by the eyes on him and the gunslinger. HIS gunslinger. But he was far more proud and stubborn than he was uneasy, so he remained put, allowing the tiniest hint of a smile when Jesse thanked him. "It is my pleasure," He said.

Quite happily, McCree started working at his breakfast, thankful to finally just get something in his stomach. "Who cooked the waffles? They're good. I'm guessin' Reinhardt provided the sausage. Also good."

Reinhardt laughed and gave McCree a slap on the shoulder, resulting in a little grunt. "You know me too well, my friend!"

"You're gonna break me in half if you do that again," McCree chuckled, scratching at his beard.

As the giant knight boomed with laughter and just about snapped Jesse in half with the clap on the back, the Shimada warned, "Careful," though there was no steel in his voice. "Dr Zielger will not appreciate having her patient wounded." Someone awww'd under their breath. Hanzo whipped his head around, but couldn't tell between Lena and Hana, who both looked much too innocent to be genuine. Hrm.

He flicked the scarf back over his shoulder, where it had settled without permission, and looked at his lover. "How do you feel?" He dared to ask. It had been a few days, after all, since McCree had left the medbay.

"Like a man possessed," he mused, letting out a little laugh. "I can't wait 'til Angela discharges me. I reckon I'll feel much better in... Maybe a week and a half, two weeks." He very calmly took a drink and made direct eye contact with Hanzo, trying to keep from smirking-- that was about the time that Mercy had asked them to wait until before sex. He couldn't wait.

Hanzo took a moment to figure out what 'a man possessed' meant, still not used to every simile and saying McCree had at his arsenal. What made much, MUCH more sense was the next comment, about 'a week and a half', making Hanzo pause mid-chew and stare at Jesse with a look that just screamed 'you son of a bitch'. The look of a man with so many scathing remarks, and was unable to say any of them.

"Anyway," McCree continued smoothly, "I'd say things are shapin' up well." Lena stared at them both, thinking hard about something. "What?"

Hanzo was about to find some clever, snide remark to get back at the other, when Tracer spoke up and caused him to pause in surprise yet again. "I'm just trying to figure out how you two even work so well together in the first place," she admitted. "You're such opposites."

He could feel the tips of his ears burning pink, and for a moment he looked about ready to bolt under the pressure of all the eyes on him. That, or tell of Lena in a way that was anything but kind.

In the end, though, he surprised himself by setting down his fork and saying, "Without discord, one cannot appreciate harmony. Without harmony, one cannot acknowledge discord. 'Opposites' has nothing to do with it." He hesitated, unsure of how to act next, and chose to place a hand over Jesse's. Not holding it, or squeezing it. Just a touch - likely more physical affection than most of the Overwatch members had ever seen the older Shimada give. With a wry expression, he said in a humorous tone, "He has his merits. Though harmony is not one of them."

He sounded just like Genji-- McCree's expression softened and he gently laced their fingers together. "I'm real harmonious," he mused. Harmonious with Hanzo, at least.

Hanzo snorted, though he let McCree lace their fingers together. The others seemed pleased enough - not a voice of objection nor concern to be seen. "You are as harmonious as a fish in a desert," was his response, that tiny smirk finally revealing itself on his features before flitting away. Brief, but most certainly there.

Lena smiled at the two of them. "Makes us pretty happy, seeing you two so pleased like this. You're right chuffed." Hanzo didn't know what 'chuffed' meant, even after being friends with Lena for quite some time, but he accepted what he recognized to be best wishes for them both.

McCree chuckled to himself and took another bite of his breakfast, then made a little humming noise in thought. "I reckon so."

The soft thrum of Lúcio's music, plus the murmur of approval from the others, made the moment oddly... serene. Unlike anything the samurai had felt in a while. Genji's words, his annoying insistence about _family_ and _friends_ , was just beginning to seem... less foolish. Not by much, but just enough for Hanzo to relax the lingering tenseness in his shoulders. To feel the kind of calm he normally only found in solitude or with Jesse.

"Do not waste time," He told said cowboy, freeing his hand and nudging his plate. "You need proper fresh air, and Dr Zielger gave you a time limit."

"Alright, alright." Luckily, by that point, McCree was virtually done with his meal, and the rest of it was gone in a short amount of time. "You wanna take me somewhere outside, then? I'm ready whenever." There weren't really any particularly nice places to sit around Gibraltar that he recalled, honestly, but knowing Hanzo, he'd find something.

Most of the others were able to go back about their own business, though Lúcio's soothing music continued to refresh and rejuvenate the entire team. Even as they began to trickle out of the room, one by one, the feelings of camaraderie and general happiness brought about by McCree and the music seemed to linger. Not a feeling Hanzo was used to.

He shook the thoughts from his mind, instead focusing on standing, stacking their dishes, and guiding McCree out into the open air. There wasn't much on Gibraltar in terms of pretty locations, but there were places with fresh air and lovely views. They would be significantly more difficult to reach with the cowboy in tow, though, so Hanzo opted for a back corner of the base, high above the ground, looking over the ocean. Close enough to the ocean that the breeze would refresh, but not bite or sting. He and Genji had shared tea and quiet thoughts here now and again.

"All medicine has its roots in water," He mused aloud. "The air from the ocean heals the mind and body. I come here often." He laughed dryly, hands going from the handles of the chair to rest on Jesse's shoulders. "Though it does little for me."

"It's beautiful," Jesse murmured, easing himself out of the chair to sit on the ground-- Jesse let out a breath. It was a huge comfort to feel the earth solid beneath him again and to feel the wind on his face. "Thanks for bringing me here, darlin'. Come and sit down next to me."

"It is my pleasure." After barely a moment of hesitation, more just watching to make sure Jesse got down from his chair fine before relaxing, Hanzo complied with his lover's wishes, kneeling in a practiced motion. Adjusting his kyudo-gi once he settled, making himself comfortable, the archer nudged his shoulder up against Jesse's. Casual contact. A rare pleasure.

McCree was so unused to the ocean. Growing up in the landlocked state of New Mexico meant that even now it was hard to wrap his head around the idea of huge bodies of water covering the majority of the planet, so expansive and deep that they might never know just how big it really was. He watched the sun glitter on the water, taking it all in.

It was some time before Hanzo dared to speak. "They are so..." He failed to find the word at first to describe 'them'. "... Kind." Oh. He meant Overwatch. "Accommodating. But it is not to mock or make light of our grievances." He frowned, just slightly, losing his thoughts even as he worked to arrange them. The ocean had that effect, he found. Worked out the honesty around the tact. "I cannot understand them."

"They care about you, Hanzo." He placed one hand over the other's, took it, and kissed the back of it. "It'll take some getting used to. I remember starting out with Overwatch and feeling a lot like you do."

He paused to tuck a stray lock of hair behind Hanzo's ear. "Maybe that's why we work so well together." They came from such similar backgrounds, yet had turned out completely differently-- it was interesting, to say the least.

"We're all here for you." McCree kissed his partner tenderly, eyes closing as he edged closer. "Mm..."

The dragon's breath threatened to catch throat at every tender touch, each latching onto his heart. It almost seemed to taunt him for his feelings, the emotions he'd stopped trying to control since he and the cowboy's first messy come-together, rushed and lustful and wanting. How much he cared about the cowboy, and how much the cowboy seemed to care about him. Not only Jesse, either, but the entire team.

It wasn't something Hanzo could wrap his mind around, accept, figure out. It fractured awkwardly away from his realty, left him confused even as he leaned into the kiss offered. When Jesse leaned closer, humming softly into the kiss, Hanzo made a noise almost desperate and cupped his scruffy jaw with one hand, eyelids fluttering shut as he savored that which he was sure he did not deserve. This man _loved_ him. He had no words to describe it.

"Jesse..." He started, as if he wanted - no, needed - to say something. But the rest wouldn't come to him, so he just kissed him again, longer, like he was leaving for a mission. Like he might not kiss him again for a long time.

Jesse savored the kiss, wrapping his arms around Hanzo. It was lovely, it was captivating-- he couldn't let go of his samurai, not even if he wanted to. "I love you," he whispered between kisses, toying gently with the other's hair.

Again, he said those words. The three precious words, with others piled on top, things of praise and gratitude that Hanzo couldn't find the right words to respond to. So, to answer, he pressed their lips together again, sating the hunger he would not admit to. letting Jesse do what he pleased with his hair. One of his own hands lifted to bury itself in the other man's shaggy mane, getting a grip, fingers massaging his scalp with a practiced ease. This was all too familiar to him, save that one phrase. _I love you_. "You talk too much," Hanzo murmured.

It was just a kiss. But at the same time, he hoped it expressed some of his thanks. In the world of tenderness and trust - the one place where his years of teaching in diplomacy did not prepare him for - he found words beyond snide remarks and whispered praise to be quite beyond him. Kisses would have to do.

It felt right, there at Hanzo's side. McCree's heart swelled with love, and he pulled him closer, enjoying it until their lips finally parted for an opportunity to breathe. "You're so beautiful," he murmured, dreamy with admiration. "Thank you for taking me here. Thank you for staying with me, darlin'."

"You _say_ too much. With so few words." He sounded... disapproving, but halfheartedly so. Like he'd told himself he disapproved, but didn't actually believe it. Like it was a rule he'd chosen to forget. "And then you speak for hours about nothing at all. It is a talent." Another kiss, then another, each one pulling him nearer to Jesse until they were all but pressed together.

"It's called rambling, sweet thing." He chuckled, thoroughly enjoying the way Hanzo played with his hair and massaged his scalp. Much like a naughty puppy, he craved heaps of physical affection and got so excited when he was finally given it, responding with laughter and rambunctious kisses all over Hanzo's lips and cheeks and forehead, finishing with a kiss to the top of his head. "You're a sweetheart. My sugar pop, pumpkin, dollface, poppet, kitten..."

If Jesse was a puppy - grinning, affectionate, craving contact and wordlessly happy when he received it, Hanzo was like a cat. Proud, attentive to cleanliness, skittish, not fond of crowds. Preferring warm, quiet places. And, as was revealed when McCree regaled him with kisses and sappy pet names, cats were very very attention-hungry. Not even the Shimada could restrain his smile, the soft chuckle the affection eased out of him like he'd been laughing all his life.

McCree pressed a kiss to his lips again and relaxed, loving how close they were, pressed against one another and tangled together. "I can't wait for another week. I want to sleep in my own bed with you in my arms," he sighed, "I wanna make love to you. For real."

Talk of making love, while not exactly embarrassing, did have Hanzo hiding his face in the cowboy's neck. Maybe he was self-conscious about his own glee regarding the subject; maybe he was just shy, uncertain how to reply as he stayed happily, comfortably close. Not a replacement for the promised intimacy yet to come. But a small supplement.

"At least you know when to be crude," He murmured, smiling despite himself. _Make love_. It sounded remarkably intimate, even in regards to sex itself. Looking at Jesse again, he moved both hands to cup the scruffy jaw, thumbs brushed over his untrimmed beard and the handsome shape of his cheeks. This was a subject he was much more comfortable with - why, he couldn't say, and didn't want to think about it. Perhaps with a bit of teasing smugness in his voice, he promised, "It will be worth the wait. As much _waiting_ as you have done, anyway." The playful tint to his grin revealed that, yes, he was talking about yesterday. Of course.

Jesse laughed softly and placed a hand over Hanzo's, relaxing into the touch. "I ain't tryin' to be crude. I just really wanna be with you, you know?" He nuzzled gently against the other and let out a gentle breath, holding Hanzo comfortingly close. "Tell me if it's too much. Alright?" He never wanted to make him uncomfortable.

Honestly, McCree was content to move at whatever pace Hanzo wanted to set. This was new for them both, but especially so for his samurai-- it was important to communicate, like this.

"You were not being crude," Hanzo clarified, letting Jesse nuzzle into him, reciprocating the gesture with a tenderness that now came naturally. "It was surprising." His hands smoothed over Jesse's rugged features once more, admiring each imperfection, until they were loosely draped around the other man's neck. He did not just yet have any urge to press closer, for his hands to slip under cloth just for the sake of finding bare skin to touch. This was supposed to be time for Jesse to _relax_ , after all. But that didn't mean he wanted distance.

"I am not fragile." His tone was calm, but insistent. He had no problem recognizing how little experience he had in honest, romantic relationships. But he was certain he would be fine with whatever Jesse had to throw at him. Certain. Absolutely certain. "So do not worry for me. _You_ are the one keen to rush your recovery, remember." He was kind, but teasing, almost scolding but not quite. Incredibly fond. "Mercy will be the death of me, won't she?"

"Mm." He smiled to himself and gazed out at the water before them, enjoying the moment together with nothing keeping them apart. The sea and silence went hand in hand, and he made a mental note to come here with Hanzo again. It was rare to find someone he enjoyed just sitting in silence with, and the moment seemed to stretch on forever before McCree realized he was falling asleep.

Mercy would be looking for them soon. "...Do you think we should go inside? Angela said to be back." He loathed the idea of going inside only to be stuck full of needles and sent to bed, but he knew it would be best for his recovery, whether he liked it or not.

"Wait. Just a moment longer," was Hanzo's reply, said a bit too hastily to seem quite normal. He wasn't entirely sure why he said it; he could feel McCree dozing beside him and knew they couldn't spend too much more time outside, with the afternoon sun beating down even around the helpful clouds. But even so, the Shimada mumbled, as if embarrassed by his plea, "... Just let me hold you."

He wanted to say 'I love you', he realized. He wanted to repeat it back, or something like it, matching the strangely magical words that Jesse could give so much meaning even after having said them ten times over. He wanted to offer that promise, that cheesy nonsense Jesse had said about accepting imperfections and understanding beyond them. He wanted to love Jesse as a lover, and to appreciate Overwatch as his family. But he wouldn't. He wanted to, but he _couldn't_. His lips formed the words in Japanese but never voiced them, and after a few long moments of looking conflicted, his expression settled back into its regular stern neutrality. "My apologies. Let me help you." With that, he worked to lift Jesse back into the chair, perhaps holding him for a few moments longer than usual. His hair smelled pleasant, though the loss of the cigarillos made it different than what he was used to. "Next time, we will sneak out some of your cancer sticks."

The hesitation confused McCree. He was concerned, he wanted to find a way to help Hanzo work through whatever he was feeling, but as he gazed into his eyes he couldn't find the answers that he sought. Why did he have to be so hard to read?

"...Okay," he responded, deciding not to pry. He settled into the chair, dissatisfied, but still chuckled at the description of his smokes as 'cancer sticks.' "At least I smoke the sweet ones." Some could be rather nice, actually, smelling just as sweet as they were meant to taste.

"If I objected to how they tasted, I would not get you any," was Hanzo's response, an amused note to his voice as he pressed a kiss to the top of McCree's head. Not something he often did, thanks to their height difference, so he indulged in the undeniably sweet gesture before guiding him back inside. He didn't have to push the device, but he did so anyway. Maybe for the sake of letting Jesse sleep. Maybe out of the quiet protectiveness he felt for the other man, the same reason it didn't bother him when Hana grinned at them both from afar as he pushed Jesse back to the medbay.

"I will visit again after dinner," He promised, giving the man plenty of time to sleep. "If you wake from another nightmare, now or during the night, do not hesitate to contact me." Hanzo's voice was soft as they moved, tone heavy with its honesty. Should he manage to get sleep that night, he would not mind it being disturbed for Jesse's sake. He added, in case McCree thought himself a nuisance, "Please."

"...Thank you." Jesse gave Hanzo a gentle expression and kissed him, softly, before he left.


	8. Perfect, Imperfect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A nightmare triggers an explosive argument.
> 
> They piece themselves back together.

Getting to sleep that night was difficult for Jesse, lying there and wishing he were in Hanzo's bed. Pressed against his back, arms around his middle, softly tangled with each other and the bedsheets pooled around their waist. He wanted to sleep with him and be together, safe in each other's arms.

He had hoped for the bliss of a dreamless sleep, but found himself plagued with phantom pains in his chest that translated into a concerning narrative. 'I love you,' it was all he could think to say, Peacekeeper dropped into the sand as he pulled his lover close and held him. It was a huge comfort. 'I love you, too.' Hanzo gazed at him with such tenderness that his heart swelled. The moment of bliss was only interrupted when, as Hanzo kissed him, he drew an arrow from its quiver and stabbed McCree through the chest with it.

Everything kicked into hyperdrive. He jolted awake, lungs aching for air, hands instinctively flying for his chest. Tears, and then silence. "...Athena?"

"Yes, agent McCree?"

"Please, uh... Please call for Hanzo."

* * *

It was lucky that Jesse slept into the night, because Hanzo never showed up to visit him that evening. He'd shut himself away like a stubborn child, communicator turned off despite what he'd promised the other, skipping out on the third meal of the day in favor of solitude and training. Bettering himself in a lonely existence was all he'd ever known, a world he'd never thought beyond. A miserable existence by the time he had any chance to remedy it, but it was familiar. Soothing.

He wasn't alone anymore, though. He had Jesse, and Jesse told him that he had Overwatch as well. That he had a family again, not just in Genji. But Hanzo couldn't accept that. He refused to. He didn't deserve any of it, and so he told himself, he did not want it. That all good things stolen by the unworthy were bound to be taken back.

And yet here he was, thinking about cowboys with unruly beards and honest smiles and calloused, tender touches. Hanzo's aim was piss-poor, striking the targets but never how he wanted, as he fumed in his own unsteady emotions. He turned his communicator off when Genji contacted him, asking if he wished to meditate as he did every night. Instead, Hanzo worked himself into a sweat, eventually shedding his kyudo-gi altogether to shoot, again and again and again. Once that was done, he showered for too long, until the water had grown cold. A punishment for his own flaws.

He didn't bother drying nor doing up his hair again, letting it airdry as he returned to his quarters, dropping his kyudo-gi on the floor, changing into a plain black shirt and wrapping the serape-made hair ribbon around his wrist. Like a reminder of his own unworthiness, to stare at while he lay restlessly in bed. Dully, it reminded him to turn his communicator back on, certain Genji would be long asleep and Jesse would be fine anyway.

Two seconds later, it pinged. A message from Athena, saying Agent McCree had requested his presence. It sounded urgent. A _machine_ sounded urgent.

* * *

 It took an unsettlingly long time for anything to happen. "Athena, call for Hanzo."

"I sent an alert out already, agent McCree."

"Send another one." Why wasn't he coming? It was already late enough-- skipping out on the dinner visit was understandable enough, but this too? When he really needed the support?

"As you wish. His communicator appears to be shut off, however."

Jesse stilled. "...Why?"

"I am afraid I do not know."

Maybe he was just... Busy. At two in the morning. Jesse sat quietly, trying to justify it to himself over and over before it finally just made him _angry_. He swore under his breath, wiped the tears from his face, and sat up in bed. It made his whole body ache, and memory of the dream sent a phantom pain through his chest, right at the gunshot wound, but he persisted.

Sudden guilt and fear dropped into the pit of Hanzo's stomach. Not so strong as the day Jesse had almost died, but it was enough to jolt any beginnings of sleep out of his body. He all but ran from room - no, there was no point in denying it, he _did_ run, leaping from a staircase in his hurry. Hair still down, umber eyes bright with worry, he pushed open the medbay doors, past all the precautions Mercy had insisted he take, and opened McCree's door without any warning, going to the bed. "Jesse? What is it?"

When Hanzo opened the door, he didn't expect Jesse to be standing there, right in front of him, looking a blend of pained and furious. It made the beginnings of the Shimada's question die on his tongue as he stared, eyes wide in silent shock, still breathing heavily from his running. Jesse was standing, when he shouldn't have been. Jesse had tears drying in the corners of his eyes. He'd been hurting. But above all that, Jesse was _angry_.

They both stopped.

McCree stared. "...Where the hell _were_ you? I sent for you half an hour ago!"

It was more the shock of the anger that made Hanzo flinch when shouted at, not the shouting itself. The cowboy could get angry at things, of course, but never had he looked like this at _Hanzo_. The guilt returned tenfold, fear replaced by shame, and the fingers of his right hand closed around the end of the hair ribbon wrapped around his wrist.

Only to grasp nothing. An odd fear gripped him, and he looked down, only for a thin moment. The hair ribbon was gone. In his rush to get to the medbay, he must have dropped it.

For some reason, it unsettled him greatly, eyes still wide as he stammered for an excuse, an honorable reason to betray Jesse's trust. In his surprise at the whole situation, even his words were betraying him. "I-- I didn't-- you're not-- My communicator--"

"I needed you, Hanzo, the one thing you promised me was that you'd be there if I needed you!" Jesse made a shooing motion. "Go on! Get out!" He was over the pain and now felt mostly consumed by frustration. He knew Hanzo would never do this on purpose, but it still hurt him regardless of if it was an accident or not. The intention did little to change the results.

"I'm fine, just go!" He would talk about it in the morning, that was fine. Right now, though? He felt betrayed-- Hanzo wasn't good for that right now.

Only then did Hanzo's expression flash with hurt. The stunned, pained surprise changed to legitimate pain, bright and fearful at its own intensity, hitting him as harshly as Jesse's words until he had to take a step back. He tried to speak, but this time he couldn't even get a sound out. And he knew there was no point in insisting he stayed; at this point, he didn't want to. He couldn't.

He wouldn't.

So he grit his teeth together, turned, and left, not even closing the door behind himself as he walked in a mockery of his usual grace. As soon as he was around the corner, the tapping of his soft but quick footsteps increased, a sign he'd not wanted to linger any more than he did. Hanzo ran, not even noticing that he stepped on the faded red hair ribbon, dropped on the floor on the way to Jesse. For the second time in his life, he didn't know where he was running; all he knew was that he needed to run.

Jesse surrendered, and went back to sleep.

* * *

 The morning hit him hard.

Sunlight filtering through the blinds and onto his face, he reluctantly woke and let out a long breath. He still felt it, the arrow in his chest. McCree sat up and smoothed his bedhead down, slowly beginning to recall the events of the previous night. His second dream, the one he had just woken from, was already beginning to fade-- all he could recall was the same stabbing pain in his chest from the gunshot and the arrow, feeling like his lungs were being squeezed, swelling with guilt and burning in the hot New Mexican sun without Hanzo there to pick him up and take him away like before.

He shook the thought away. "Athena? Send for... Send for Hanzo."

"Understood."

Hanzo had not returned to his quarters for the rest of the night. Instead, he dressed himself in his traditional clothing, left his bow and quiver in his quarters, and went to the highest point in Gibraltar, climbing with only his hands. He had been up there only one or twice; it was a place of absolute, promised solitude, and yet as Hanzo knelt and stared out into the ocean, he felt like he had carried a weight far greater than his bow.

His feelings from before - the conflict, the confusion around love, the berating for his own imperfections - were now accompanied by hurt and guilt. He'd hurt Jesse, to the point where the man did not even want his comfort, and Hanzo couldn't blame him. He'd broken a guarantee, after all, proven himself to be a laughably piss-poor promise-keeper.

So Athena's buzz on his communicator, which he'd left online for some reason, was a surprise. Something like anger settled in his stomach, and he was tempted to snap,  _no, he does not want me there._ He had his friends and family, his Overwatch. But he'd still asked for _him_ , of all the wretched people on the island.

Hanzo resisted for another five minutes before he finally stood, biting the inside of his cheek to punish his own susceptibility as he said, "Tell him I will be there shortly." He climbed down from the ledge with the same timeless grace and ease he might use for a much shorter distance, then returned to the watchpoint. His hair was still down, loose around his shoulders as he walked into the medbay, opened the door. His expression was stony, save the storm in his eyes. "You sent for me," was all he said, tone clipped and restrained.

Jesse sat on the side of the bed with his gaze low, feeling very... tired. Not the sort of tired that made him want to sleep, but the sort of tired that made him just feel sad. "...I had a dream about you," he began. "Last night before I first tried to call for you." Hanzo did not approach the bed as Jesse spoke, nor did he say a word. He stood where he was, only a little ways into the doorway, gaze never leaving the injured gunslinger as he spoke.

He almost didn't want to tell Hanzo. He hesitated, mulling it over for a long moment, considering what the consequences may be. It might just make things harder, but... He felt that Hanzo had a right to know. "I, uh... I'm sorry, first of all." Nervous, he tucked his hair behind his ear and sheepishly curled in on himself just a bit. "...I held you and kissed you. It felt so _right_ , being with you, I just told you I loved you. Then you... You told me you loved me back. It was perfect, you kissed me." His throat felt dry. McCree thought about stopping there, but quickly realized he had no other real option than to continue. "...You told me you loved me, kissed me, and then pulled an arrow from your quiver and stabbed me through the chest with it where my gunshot wound is."

The dream was depicted in just enough detail to hurt. How it started out sweet - no, not just sweet, Jesse called it perfect - and then descended into vicious betrayal and pain and death in barely a moment. How it had gone from what Jesse wanted to a twisted, horrific version of a real injury.

His expression did not change the whole time. But, when McCree described how his dream self had been killed, his hands clenched into tight fists. A nightmare, about betraying trust, and Hanzo had comforted Jesse by betraying him in the real world. Letting out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding in, the ex-yakuza considered leaving. Extending his condolences before retreating back to his perch. Hiding himself away from the world. But that would not make anything better for himself, let alone Jesse.

That was heavy. McCree couldn't bring himself to look up at all, instead allowing his hair to fall forward, a curtain hiding his face so that he wouldn't have to deal with his feelings all at once. "...I don't know." One hand rested over the bandage on his front. "I woke up and lost my cool for a while."

"... I am sorry," Hanzo started, voice stiff and uncertain with the conflicting feelings. Afraid. Hurt. Ashamed. "You had every right to react as you did. My actions were dishonorable. I do not want an apology. I do not expect forgiveness." He wanted it, though, so badly. But even if he had it, what would he do with it? Could he crawl back into Jesse's arms after all the he'd said about the first part of the dream? About love?

He didn't know. He was scared to know, to face all the conflict that had finally reached its peak.

"I love you." Jesse didn't hesitate to say that, not for a moment. He knew that this one incident wasn't enough to bring their entire relationship to its knees-- they were stronger than that. "Please, just... Just come and sit with me. I need you."

Of course this one incident - no matter how chaotic - could tear them apart, the Shimada mused as he stepped towards the bed. Hanzo had his conflicts, his fears about what he could and couldn't accept, but he could push them aside, focus on the things that mattered, wrap himself around them to protect them from his own negative thoughts.

Or at least, he thought he could.

McCree took a moment to ready himself, and looked up at Hanzo. He looked the same kind of tired that Jesse was. "It was just a dream, Hanzo, I know you would never..." He let out a breath. "I shouldn't have gotten so angry with you." Staying in here for days was making him irritable and aggressive. He didn't like it one bit.

Something odd flickered across Hanzo's face. Like a frown, but not quite, like something was confusing and annoying him at once. Not Jesse, but something else entirely. Something pained. It was gone quickly, though, and he when he spoke again, his tone was as stuff as it had been before, not far above a whisper, hands still in tight fists. "I cannot." Each syllable sounded forced, like someone was holding him at gunpoint just to say it. "And you should have. It is what I deserve." That same odd expression flickered across his face again. "You are not a fool, Jesse McCree, not in all things. You know this."

"Don't," was all McCree knew to say. He couldn't bear to see Hanzo hate himself like this, but he didn't have the energy to try to make everything better. Shouldn't it just be easier than this? Being together? He knew that that was untrue, it would never be easy, but he also knew that it would be worth it. "You don't deserve bad things, okay? We both fucked up last night and that's fine, because couples get into arguments and fight all the goddamn time. You're allowed to make a big ugly mistake. So am I. That doesn't... make you unworthy of love all of a sudden. I know it's easier to hate yourself, it's easier for me to hate myself, too. But we can't just... give up. You know that."

At this, Hanzo clenched his jaw, expression contorting once more into that odd frown before he managed to right it. His breathing was shaky - a phenomenon that surprised him more than it possibly could Jesse. His composure had cracked before - Hanzo was not without anger, or being consumed by lust, or other expressions. But he never let himself look this fragile.

"You cannot understand." Just as Jesse didn't have the kind of strength to handle a storm, neither did Hanzo. He was aching from lack of sleep, his hands hurt from the too-long climb, and he could swear something was squeezing his heart too tightly. And yet, he kept talking through gritted teeth. "Last night was not an 'ugly mistake'. You know nothing of 'ugly mistakes'." And there it was. The beginning of the grand scale of things, the tipping point to the times Hanzo had changed the subject from his own issues and McCree had noticed. "I have never been worthy of you. Of this. Of _them_." That same look flashed across his features, and it became apparent what it was: He, the dragon, was trying not to break down. "Can you not see that, even now?"

On any other day, McCree would have argued with him about it, fought tooth and nail to try to get Hanzo to understand. But he was exhausted from trying to do this all the time and failing, at a loss for what to do. It was hard to accept the fact that he couldn't just fix everything, that the only person that could really help Hanzo was Hanzo.

So McCree let the energy just drain out of him, and he lost his fighting spirit. "I can't... I can't just fix this by myself, darlin'." He wanted to cry, he _did_ cry, letting it all just come out. "...Is this a mistake? Us?" Jesse didn't know what to do. "Are we making a mistake, being together?" He didn't want to stop. He _couldn't_ stop. He wanted to stay with him, and he knew he wouldn't be able to end their relationship if they ended up really needing to. What kind of man loved like this? He didn't know, but he wanted more of it, even though he knew he shouldn't.

"Is it a mistake, loving you?"

The possibility of the answer being 'yes' made his heart sink a little lower. "Just... Just tell me yes." He looked away, wiping the tears pitifully from his face. "If you're going to break up with me, then please don't keep feeding me," he whispered. "I'll just keep trying to come back to you."

To see Jesse cry again and not lift a hand even to wipe his tears carved a hole in Hanzo that he anticipated almost as much as he felt. He leaned slightly, like he wanted to draw near, to comfort while being comforted. But the metal casings of his legs seemed rooted in place, glued to their spot, and all he did was pull in another wet breath. The sanitized air was a pitiful replacement for calloused, loving hands.

"It is not a mistake." He did not grit out every word through his teeth now, like he had before. He just sounded defeated, weak, hanging on threads turning to dust under his desperate, grabbing fingers. The only strength he seemed to have left in him was fueled into a handful of words, sick with anger and frustration he had nobody to blame for but himself. No smiling it off with a change in subject, no nothing. "It is _impossible_. I have wronged, I am _unloveable_ , I cannot-- THEY cannot-- YOU cannot..." But Jesse did. He kept saying it, over and over again that he loved him. Jesse was a fool, but not in all things.

Tears tracked identical lines down both of his cheeks. Hanzo did not wipe them away. " _You_ are impossible." It wasn't a complaint, calling the man stubborn or difficult; Hanzo meant it literally. Jesse shouldn't want to stay with him. He shouldn't have held on. He shouldn't have looked the man and said he'd keep coming back as long as there was hope, but he did. "Not a mistake. You could never be a mistake." He sniffled. An unseemly sound. "I would only leave you to have freedom of me, but you do not want it."

"Kiss me," Jesse breathed, getting to his feet. His body ached, but he pushed that to the background and stepped forward, tenderly taking Hanzo's hands in his own, and kissed him. It was all he could do. It felt perfect, it _was_ perfect, he wrapped his arms around his love and just melted against him. Perfect.

This time, when Hanzo found himself rooted to the spot, he didn't wish to move further away. He didn't protest when his clenched fingers were relaxed and instead clutched at Jesse's fingers, then his face, then his hair, his tears falling fast down his face as he kissed like he would never see the man again. The impossible, foolish, miraculous man.

"I'll stay with you until you tell me to leave," McCree insisted, words followed closely by another kiss that he never wanted to end. It was emotional, standing there kissing and crying and trembling, but it somehow felt better than anything else he could have thought to do. They were a perfect trainwreck.

"You can't," Hanzo mumbled, only to kiss the man again. Then, weaker, "You shouldn't." And yet around each word, each insistence he believed less and less, Hanzo pressed into the kisses, desperate to bask in the holiness he was sure he couldn't be allowed to keep. And yet after he'd told Jesse, insisted that he was undeserving, he was being kissed and touched and wanted and it was enough to make his head spin. Like he was young again, blissfully naive on things such as these.

"I love you." It was a fragile whisper, one he sealed in another kiss, but it was there. The forbidden words, the phrase Jesse had dreamed of, without an arrow or weapon in sight. They were addictive on Hanzo's tongue, so he said them again, almost sobbing them out as he wet the taller man's face with the last of his tears.

Jesse's heart just about exploded when he heart Hanzo tell him he loved him. He felt electric, he couldn't sit still, he just kissed deeper and touched more and held on tighter. "I love you," he echoed, "I love you so much." He couldn't get enough. McCree squeezed Hanzo's hands, led him back to the bed and sat on it, pulling the other into his lap. He didn't care what happened as long as he had this. As long as he had Hanzo. It was unbelievable, he felt like some lovesick schoolboy, and yet, he would have preferred nothing else.

Wordlessly, Hanzo let himself be led back to the bed, eyes wide and vulnerable even as he settled over his lover's lap, effectively straddling Jesse as he pressed their lips together again. Even when they'd first undressed each other, the first time they'd kissed, the first time they'd talked about 'trying things out', Hanzo had never wavered in his ability to handle the situation. Never seeming unprepared. But this was new territory, something frightening yet addictive.

With one hand, Jesse wiped the tears from his partner's cheeks and then ran it back through his hair. It was rather safe to say that he was addicted to Hanzo. It was perfect. Absolutely perfect.

Hanzo all but clung to Jesse as his tears were wiped from his face and his eyes locked with the cowboy's.

"Jesse," He whispered, sniffling once more, one of his own hands finding the other's face and wiping away the tears there. The name felt good to say, so he said it again, this time pressing it into its owner's mouth with another kiss, other hand resting light as could be on his heart. " _Jesse_. I love you. I _need_ you. I love you."

"I need you, too," he murmured, then kissed him again and again. Finally, when their tears had stopped but the passion still remained, Jesse held his partner a little tighter. "Hanzo..." He pulled back enough to make eye contact, expression so gentle and tender that it must have surprised them both. "...Hanzo, would you make love to me?" They weren't technically supposed to, but... But they could be gentle, he felt better, and there was no more emotionally charged moment than this. "I need you," he whispered.

The remnants of Hanzo's tears dried on his face and Jesse's fingers as he kissed the man who had both triggered and soothed them. Words couldn't express the kind of weight that had been lifted from his shoulders, dispensed into the air, hopefully not to be seen again. Of course there were lingering thoughts. Of course Hanzo had a ways to go. But he was not fearful of the wrongness in Jesse, only because there wasn't any at all. Even when he leaned in, loving and wanting and everything the Shimada could ask for, and asked him to break the rules.

It took a moment to answer, Hanzo so pleasantly surprised he knew not what to say, but speak he eventually did, not having to be loud when they were so close. "Not here." He darted a tongue over his lips, glanced back out towards the door, then Athena's unblinking eye. He could ask to deactivate it, but this room stunk of the nightmares and tears of recent hours. Besides, the beds they had were marginally bigger. "Our rooms. Everyone else should be out." Hopefully. He'd send a few prayers to long-silent ancestors and things would be fine.

"Mine is closer," he murmured, then kissed his cheek idly. "Take me."

The wheelchair would be seen missing before McCree was, and walking so far was not an option for him. Only one choice left, and honestly Hanzo couldn't be compelled to object. He stood, still feeling short of his full strength but certain that sheer stubbornness would make up for it. Jesse was gathered up in his arms, all six feet of him, and carried back through the corridors to the room. Their room, now.

As soon as the door was locked and Hanzo had set him down, McCree pulled his partner down on top of him on the bed and kissed him again. It felt so good to lie across his own bed, but it felt even better knowing that he shared it with Hanzo. Wordless, breathless, Hanzo let himself be pulled down, on all fours above Jesse, kissing him to slide back into the mood. He could kiss him all day, but they had a motive beyond just lips touching.

"Touch me," McCree breathed, "Please."

When asked, almost begged to touch, Hanzo conceded, dropping his hands down to push Jesse's shirt up, both hands admiring his stomach, touching familiar scars as he breathed into the kiss. "Exquisite," He whispered, even as he tweaked the other's waistband, just to tease. "You will have to patient, else risk hurting yourself. But I will not keep you waiting."

McCree melted under Hanzo's touch and opened his legs nice and wide, letting out another breath as he shivered-- he'd wanted this for so long, and it was finally here. Jesse opening up his legs wider only made it that much easier for Hanzo to slot between them, seeming to fit the space so easily and ideally. The thought of it made him shiver, as did the hands in his hair, and he complied to Jesse's wishes with a low hum of approval. One of the hands on the man's stomach reached down to grip his thigh, then work its way down in such but pressing touched until it could reach his crotch and Hanzo could grind his hand against the growing bulge.

"Touch me," McCree repeated, "Please, just touch me. I need you so badly..." His hands ran through Hanzo's gorgeous dark hair, pulling gently at it, and all at once, he realized just how perfect this was going to be. He was going to really make love to Hanzo for the first time, and he couldn't wait. "I love you."

"I love you too," was Hanzo's reply, soft and solemn-sounding, but the archer was smiling as he said it. Like it was the best goddamn news he'd heard all month.


	9. Afterglow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whoops.

Somebody had probably heard them. In the warmth of his afterglow, Hanzo didn't care.

Slowly, gradually, McCree came down from his high with heavy breaths, and a dull ache settled over his fatigued body. "...Oh, Darlin', that was..." He gazed up at Hanzo with a starry-eyed expression, positively enamored by how intense, how _perfect_ that session was. McCree couldn't be happier with the experience, and he grinned, laughing softly. "You look real nice, up on top of me like that..."

The last thing the cowboy needed after _that_ workout was weight pressing down on his wound, so Hanzo kept himself propped on his elbows, staring in a sort of awed silence at Jesse. He looked starstruck, dazed, then grinning and laughing like his old self. It pulled a fond smile from Hanzo around his own deep breaths, and he leaned in to press a single kiss to Jesse's cheek. "Perhaps I will be here more often," He promised, a curtain of his black hair giving them privacy from the rest of the room for a proper kiss. "No strain? No problems breathing?"

The pain slowly returned, and he let out a breath. "I think we bruised my back," he laughed, recalling how hard he'd been shoved down into the mattress over and over. "Mercy's gonna kill me."

Hanzo winced, making a face somewhere between apologetic and mortified. He was definitely not looking forward to that conversation with Mercy, expecting his ass to be on the line before Jesse's.

"It'll have been worth it." McCree softly kissed his partner, and took a moment to survey everything that had gone on, then reached to the nightstand and fumbled around in the first drawer, then the second, until he pulled out a box of tissues and started cleaning up the mess he'd made between them. "How're you feelin'? Alright?" Jesse looked up at Hanzo again, offering a small smile. "Love you."

Hanzo discarded the used condom, but kept his spot between the other's legs. He liked looking down at him, even if the ache of the workout was threatening to make his muscles give way. "I do feel alright, my love. Better than in many seasons." _My love._ Not the first nickname he'd ever used to battle McCree's endless supply, but the first time he'd used that one. He liked the taste of it in his mouth. "You are the one to worry about." If this was what he was like when injured, he could hardly imagine what Jesse was like at full strength. The thought of it was tantalizing, at the very least.

"Move over." His arms were threatening to give way, so when there was barely enough room he flopped on his back next to Jesse, pulling him close. "Keep the obi. Payment for my theft of your poncho." Then, a moment later, softer, "Was it good?"

"It's a _serape,"_ he mused, whispering it into Hanzo's ear as the R trilled pleasantly on his tongue. "And it ain't theft if I practically begged you to keep it." McCree kissed his cheek gently, arms wrapped around him in the most tender way possible. "The sex couldn't've been better, darlin'. Loved every second of it... I'm already cooking up some fun ideas for next time." McCree laughed again, kissing across his partner's neck. Hanzo didn't hesitate to let himself indulge, humming softly-- the soft smile at the news of the sex being good turned into a wry smirk as the cowboy mentioned his ideas for next time. Hanzo was about to nuzzle into him again, coyly ask what kind of things he had in mind and promise how he looked forward to it, when a knock at the door made them both start, Hanzo's shoulders tensing.

"Oh, shit."

"Hey, uh..." Lúcio's voice came through, muffled slightly by the door. "I don't wanna interrupt or anything, b-but you kind of missed the morning training." His skates clicked on the ground as he shifted nervously. "Breakfast is starting, if you, uh, feel like you... have the energy?"

The way he stumbled over his words - and the words themselves - made it damn obvious how long he'd been there. The answer was damning: Long enough. And of all the people, it had to be one of the younger ones. He wasn't sure if that made it better or far worse.

"We will be down in due time," Hanzo gritted through his teeth, tone even but a little bit less than pleased. Irritable that the outside world had invaded on their time together. He waited until the clicking of skates retreated, perhaps a hair faster than usual, before cursing in his native language and groaning. "I cannot _believe_ that happened."

"...Shucks." McCree wanted to tip his hat down and hide behind it, but that wasn't exactly an option here. Still, he laughed once more to fill the awkward silence, deciding to just keep loving on Hanzo. "They can wait. You wanted to stay."

While Jesse was happy to brush off the intrusion on their peace, Hanzo was a little more wary, unsettled and annoyed by the suddenness of it all. To announce their relationship on his own terms was one thing. To have certain _aspects_ of it discovered was another matter entirely, and while he wasn't blushing, his scowl was the stuff of legends.

Jesse ran his hands through Hanzo's hair lovingly, but after a long moment, had to pause and process something. "Hey, Darlin', where's your little hair doodad? The ribbon." He gave the room a cursory glance, frowning when he didn't find it. "Maybe you just forgot it in your room."

Jesse was soothing, as always - although the question about his hair ribbon made Hanzo pause and frown. Oh, that was right - he'd dropped it on his way to the medbay last night. It felt like half an eternity ago, before things had been clarified and helped along and the two had found peace with each other again (and so much more than that). "I dropped it last night," He spoke softly, reaching to push his own fingers through Jesse's shaggy hair. "I will find it again soon. It can't have gone far." Briefly, he entertained the thought of someone taking it for the sake of a prank, but dismissed it. If such a thing happened, he'd figure it out.

"I love you," He murmured, nudging Jesse back towards him so their lips could meet in a chaste but meaningful kiss. "I cannot say that I should, but I do."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter this time, but more is on the way!


	10. Mamá

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A surprise package in the mail.

Time passed, and McCree's recovery slowly progressed until he could do almost everything he could do before. There was still a lot of pain and stiffness, but it relieved itself with medication and physical activity.

The last week had been something out of a dream. Jesse's road to recovery was incredibly successful, as was Hanzo's emotional healing of the last ten years. For both of them, it was only a start. A few steps on a long path. But any progress at all was still progress, no matter how little. Hanzo certainly never left his conversations with Jesse feeling worse than when he'd arrived. His mind was peaceful - not at peace, per se, but certainly peaceful. Genji certainly noticed, and had praised him for it - while ribbing him for his relationship with McCree, of course.

Jesse, as soon as he was able, jumped to the idea of combat training. (Much to Hanzo's chagrin.) Still, Lena was gentle and they could never be angry at one another if they screwed up.

Watching from a distance, sitting cross-legged on the ground as he prepared another set of scatter arrows, Hanzo felt a wry grin on his face as Lena and Jesse sparred. At first he'd been vehemently against it, especially after their little rule-breaking activities had landed them both in serious trouble with Dr. Zielger.

But Mercy approved of this, and Jesse had been itching to get outside again (even though he was more than able to walk now), so Hanzo had eventually relented. He still insisted on being nearby, though, hair tied up in the red serape ribbon, eyes bright with interest in both his own work and the sparring. He didn't chip in, but watching was fun on its own. Occasionally he'd be spoken to, and that was enough for him.

"Come on, love, stop trying to hit me and hit me!" Lena blinked out of Jesse's reach and he let out an irritated breath, wiping some of the sheen of sweat from his brow-- his left hand hissed as he unclenched his metal fist. "A little hot for you?"

"Oh, c'mere, you blinky shit--" He turned around and his hands shot up before she could hit him, grabbing her wrists. They bent back painfully, sending Lena to her knees. She feigned temporary defeat, and as soon as he started to make a move, she grinned up at him.

"Cheers!" Lena recalled back behind him and leapt onto his back, and both collapsed into a heap on the ground where they wrestled and grappled until McCree finally gave up.

"Good God, okay, I-- whoohh-- you win."

"Point!"

"Your defense is too open, Jesse," Hanzo said, not even looking up from the pirouetting head of a half-finished arrow. "A sign you are unaccustomed to smaller opponents. Tighten your stance." His thin smile remained, and he added, "Lena, you have improved."

"Shucks, Hanzo, you're embarrassin' me." He got to his feet and stretched his arms up high, rewarded by a pop in his back. Lena made a face and told him that was gross, but McCree just laughed. "Y'know, if you're gonna just criticize, why don't you come over here n' fight me yourself?"

At the challenge, Hanzo raised both eyebrows, giving McCree a very firm _look_ like he was asking 'seriously'? But there was a glint of interest under the look, a playfulness, a glint showing that no way would Hanzo Shimada ever bow in the face of a challenge. Without another word, he set aside his arrow pieces and stood, rolling his strong shoulders as he approached the other two.

Lena made an 'oohhhhh' sound and stepped back, folding her arms with a grin. "Is that really all that smart, McCree? I remember you training with Hanzo before you were even friends, and that was wild!"

"Aw, he ain't gonna break me or nothin'. I could do it, for real."

"If you insist," Was Hanzo's simple reply, barely concealing the excitement at the chance to spar again. He hadn't practiced in ages, and if he remembered well enough, he could probably remember all the backhanded moves Jesse had at his arsenal. Because hell if he expected his lover to play completely fair.

He was dressed in his hakama as per usual, paired with a dark red t-shirt that may or may not have once been Jesse's. His stance was taken - simple but practical in all situations, with the subtle balance of a long-time veteran in martial arts. It had been long, though, and McCree was oddly talented at it himself. "Lena, please count us in."

"Ready?" She raised a hand, counting down on her fingers. "Three, two, one... Fight!"

McCree quickly realized that he didn't actually want to _fight_ Hanzo, and spent a moment hesitating before settling on a pretty simple grapple. They tussled a bit before he decided this wasn't really going anywhere, but honestly, he was okay with that. It gave him time to just _watch_ Hanzo for a while. It was a little distracting. "Not bad," he teased, giving a big grin.

While Jesse was hesitant at first, Hanzo was immediately on fully-fledged defensive, with his knees bent and eyes narrowed to watch for any movement at all. Even so, one corner of his mouth kept being tugged up, unable to resist enjoying this, watching his partner and grappling with him. He was at an immediate disadvantage, given McCree's greater height and weight, but if Hanzo didn't know how to handle bigger foes, he'd have died years ago.

"Not so bad yourself," He retorted, sweat beading on his brow, umber eyes alight as he adjusted his grip, shifted his weight, attempted to throw Jesse off-guard and knock him off-balance. For the two of them, it would only take a short slip in concentration for the other to step in and sent them flat on their back. The more perverted side of him marveled at the possibilities of doing this when Lena was not around, but he didn't dwell on it long, afraid of ruining his focus. "Should I go easy on you?"

McCree's head was in the same place. It would be incredible to do this in privacy-- He could pull Hanzo's hair, pin him to the ground and grind on his hips, twist around in all sorts of risqué positions... He mentally scolded himself for getting so distracted when it meant that Hanzo's attempt to get him off balance worked.

For a moment, Hanzo actually believed he had the upper hand and that this little grappling session was in the bag. The bigger man lost his balance, suddenly depending on the archer's weight, and the Shimada knew he could win in one or two swift movements.

Jesse swore, but made sure he fell forward into Hanzo instead of away. Hands pressed to his partner's chest from catching himself so they didn't both just fall over, Jesse gave him a dazed little grin. "Well that wasn't very nice," he mused, and gently pressed a kiss to Hanzo's lips.

"It _was_ very nice--" He began to say, aiming to gloat, only for Jesse to stun him into silence with the kiss. Hanzo's eyes widened, then relaxed, and he relaxed in turn.

It lasted only a moment, arms snaking around his partner's middle, before he promptly flipped Hanzo onto the floor on his back and pinned him, straddled quite comfortably on top of him.

It was probably the easiest flip Jesse had pulled off all day, and Hanzo could barely register it in his shock. The world spun, the ground hit him hard, and then Jesse was grinning down at him, wickedly clever, the smugness of a victor.

"Checkmate."

Hanzo was vaguely aware of Lena's laughter, but still looked more hilariously shocked than anything. Even his first words came out a little hoarse, "You cheater."

Smugly, McCree got up to his feet and reached down, taking Hanzo's hand in his own, and helped him up. "I ain't cheatin', Darlin'. Anything goes." He leaned down to Hanzo's ear and whispered, "Let's get rough like this in bed soon. You'll love it."

As Hanzo suspected, accusations of cheating rubbed off on Jesse about as effectively as water on a duck. The whisper near his ear, though - that had Hanzo inhaling sharply, mind flying back to the images of before, and the flush on his face grew from its state of just exertion and mortification. What a sneaky bastard. The fact that the archer couldn't even convince himself to mind only made it worse.

"Anything," He echoed, obviously disbelieving as he stood and brushed himself off.

Jesse chuckled and winked, just in time for Tracer to punch his shoulder, then deliver a high-five shortly after.

"You are so _terrible,"_ she giggled. "Hanzo, how do you put up with him?" It was a wonder the two even got along, so she had always wondered what made them click.

"I'm too pretty for him not to deal with me."

"Replace pretty with obstinate, and perhaps you will get somewhere." Hanzo approached the two, reached up, gave a strand of Jesse's hair a small tug. "You need a haircut."

"Hey," McCree interjected, cheeks flushing, "Watch the hair, darlin'." He had the tendency to preen about it, and the idea of trimming it short for the millionth time made him fussy. "What if I wanna grow it longer?" It had been longer in the past, right before he left Blackwatch in anticipation of the oncoming storm. After that, though, he'd cut it short again, his own way of grieving the organization-- it had been his family for a decade by then, after all.

"Ooh, like how long it was before?" Tracer gave a teasing expression. "You always complained it was too long but never cut it!"

"Hell, I looked good. What can I say?"

"Jeez, we should look in the oldest storage databases later and see if we can find pictures. How long was it? Down your back?"

"Up until I left, you bet. Usually braided it, though."

A tiny smirk flitted across Hanzo's mouth when Jesse's cheeks warmed, though it was quickly replaced by mild surprise. "Grow it out?" He echoed, obviously skeptical of the notion. He figured it was just one of McCree's excuses, a way to put off work, but Lena's backing him up cut those thoughts short. So he'd been long-haired, once. Hanzo tried to imagine it, but didn't get too far. He couldn't quite imagine anything unpleasant, though.

"How did that meet regulations?" He wondered allowed, even if his interest was obviously piqued as he realized, quiet suddenly: He'd never seen pictures of Jesse when he was younger. He wasn't sure if Jesse had seen any of him; a few were around the internet, various news articles where his face could be seen somewhere among the ranks of the rich and dubiously legal. "Let me see."

"It didn't meet regulations," he laughed. "Reyes was the dad I never had, he went soft on me. As long as my hair didn't mess me up, he let me keep it." Thinking about Gabriel hurt him-- he pushed it away.

At mention of Gabriel Reyes, Hanzo did not push further. Did not scoff at the thought of such a relationship between the two of them, because he knew for a fact that it had indeed existed. That, and Hanzo knew how much the former Blackwatch commander had meant to Jesse; to press for unhappy nostalgia in a time of happiness was not a kind choice.

Not that Hanzo would consider himself a kind man. But McCree had apparently found a way to get on his soft side. Sneaky bastard after all.

He wasn't THAT kind, however, quite happy to look over Lena's shoulder at pictures-- she had jumped at the chance to embarrass Jesse and whipped out her phone, immediately starting to dig around the database.

"Hold on, hold on, there's this one of him and Captain Amari that's _hysterical,_ we used to play this silly game around the holidays and she ended up giving him that stupid belt buckle 'cause it was his first holiday with Overwatch... Ooh, and there's another I took with him when I first joined and he had the super long hair, and another one that's-- ohmygod look at Angie and Genji in that one!" She swiped through photo after photo, giggling up a storm as she did, occasionally pausing to make commentary or point something out.

Hanzo didn't recognize all the figures - he hardly recognized Morrison, even - but Jesse stood out. Same hat. Same bright glint in his eye. Different hair, outfit, and age. He couldn't have been more than eighteen in the picture. Bright, bold, happy. A different kind of handsome.

"You look like a family." The comment came out of nowhere, but rang absolutely true. It couldn't have been like that in all lights, of course - they had a commander, rules, the public eye, the missions, the discipline. But the pictures revealed how tightly-knit they were nonetheless. That they weren't just a response unit. It was oddly fitting.

"We were a family," he mused. "We still are." McCree cherished the memories, taking a few mental notes of different pictures that he wanted Lena to send to him later.

They still were a family. That much was true, and finally, Hanzo was beginning to accept it. After the morning bedding McCree (something he did not regret, even if Lucio was still hesitant to look him in the eye afterwards), he had been recovering as McCree had - just in a different way. Hesitantly accepting the kindness Overwatch extended, just as he'd accepted Jesse's proclaimed love for him. It was no quick process, but he was getting better. No doubts.

The archer looked at Jesse, and cracked a somewhat playful smirk. "And _you_ looked ridiculous. At least you braided it."

It was nice, but Hanzo's little quip made the gunslinger place a hand over his chest in mock offense. "Hanzo," Jesse sighed, "Me? Look ridiculous? With _that_ glorious mane? Ugh, you wound me." He frowned at him, and Lena punched McCree's shoulder again, trying to get him to look at a picture where it was all down and out of its braid. "Y'see? Glorious."

"It was almost as long as mine," He mused, clearly still finding the pictures of Jesse's a little bit funny. Not that it looked bad, or even absurd, but just by how oddly well it suited McCree. Especially when it was in the braid. The flowing locks, not quite so much, though Hanzo wasn't opposed to them - especially not in the bedroom. Hm. "Perhaps you _should_ grow it out. It would suit you." He looked at Lena, awaiting her opinion, but she-- perhaps wisely-- opted not to comment.

"I'm gettin' a little old for that," he decided, slipping an arm around Hanzo's waist. It was a casual gesture, like draping an arm across his shoulders when they sat-- he didn't think much of it, but it felt good. Natural. "Dunno."

"Yo!" Someone knocked at the doorframe to announce their presence, and Genji strode in. He had an embarrassing magical girl shirt on-- unsurprising.

Leaning into the comfortable touch without hesitation, Hanzo was about to make some wry comment about his own age and hair, when the sound of his brother's voice interrupted his thoughts. On reflex, he made to move away from the comfortable touch on his waist, but seemed to remember himself and relax again, nodding in greeting to the brother with whom he was now on good terms.

Well. Better terms. He had yet to agree to any of the invitations to join Genji and his omnic teacher in meditation. A part of him doubted it would ever happen.

"Angela got the mail for us. McCree got a package, actually, from... New Mexico. I didn't think anyone still lived there?" Genji tossed it to Jesse, who caught it pretty easily.

"Thanks. You makin' dinner tonight?"

"Yes, but not for a while."

"Since when could you cook?" Hanzo asked his brother, a spark of amusement in his voice as he observed the package in McCree's hand. "And what is that? From your family?"

"Angela is a good teacher!" Genji insisted. "I almost burned the kitchen down once. Like, six years ago, I think? She still jokes about it." He picked throught the rest of the mail, disappointed to see that almost all of it was boring business stuff. "Mmm..."

"Genji, I can take that stuff to Winston and Morrison." Lena pointed to the majority of the mail and scooped it up. "I'll race you!"

"You are on!" The two took off in a blue and green blur, laughing like a couple of maniacs, which left McCree and Hanzo alone.

As the other two ran off, Hanzo's hand reached around to encircle Jesse's waist, reciprocating the cowboy's sweet gesture as he leaned slightly into the other man. He was half-tempted to just say they should open it now, but for all he knew, it was something intensely private. Room sounded much better, in that light.

So his hand retracted, only to loop loosely around Jesse's arm - a more formal yet still comfortably affectionate gesture.

Jesse opened the seal on the box, handling it as if it were made of glass. "It's from my Ma," he breathed, stopping before he lifted the lid. "...C'mon, let's open this in my room." He took Hanzo's hand and led him along, heart pounding in his chest.

"What is it?" Hanzo asked, curiosity unavoidable as they walked. The base was on the quieter side today, a few of the younger members off doing god knows what in the town. "Did you need something from her?"

"I don't know," he confessed. "She asked where exactly I was, but I didn't think..."

"You're probably not allowed to do that," Hanzo complained fruitlessly, but let McCree lead him upstairs by the hand. The room was not far, but even so, the archer wondered whether he should have insisted that Jesse shower first. Fighting Lena, then him, had probably worked him into a sweat.

Briefly, he wondered if there was even a point in doing it. A thin smile danced across his lip before settling again, as they walked up to the room and sat on the bed.

Jesse took a breath and very, very carefully lifted the lid. The box was opened, and both of them stared in quiet surprise at the gifts.

"Oh." Gently, he lifted a blue serape from it-- handmade, exactly the same as his ruined red one. It was perfect. He set it in his lap, not wanting to let it go, and picked a stack of photographs and a handwritten note from inside. "This is from my Ma, alright..."

The photographs were old fashioned, just how he knew she liked-- printed on paper instead of digital so they could never be lost. He stared at them before everything started coming together. "...Those are my brothers and sisters," he mused. "They look so..." McCree couldn't find the word for it. One of the photographs of McCree as a scrappy kid had a note scrawled on the back in blue ink. _"Para Hanzo,"_ he read. "She drew a million little smiley faces all over the back. I think she wants you to take it." It was so typical of his mother to embarrass him so. Most parents had the embarrassing baby pictures session with their child's significant other, so he knew it was coming eventually.

The serape was actually expected by Hanzo, predicted just before the box was opened. He didn't expect the color, though, and found himself oddly taken to it. It'd suit the Jesse in a different way, he decided, just before seeing the photographs and being surprised into silence once again.

It was Jesse's siblings, he realized after a moment, looking at each picture with genuine interest. They were all so unlike Jesse, and in the same breath, so much like him. One had the same eyes, another the same smile, another the same jaw hidden under a surprisingly neat beard. And then there was Jesse. Young, wild-haired, bright-eyed. A scrappy little kid, a budding scoundrel, oblivious to the types of heaven and hell he'd be dragged through as he aged. He couldn't have been very old then. Gingerly, Hanzo took it, staring at it, eyes a little wider than usual. Taking it in. At the time this was taken, he was being fit into the perfect mold of a lord's son, a pinnacle of regal poise and deadliness. He had no time for family photos, or grinning at the camera. Their worlds had been so, so different.

Something sharp and intrusive dug up under his ribs, lashing around his lungs to squeeze the air away whilst prodding his heart. This whole thing was making him oddly emotional, and thinking about it didn't help.

"This is you," He murmured, even though it was obvious. "I apologize. I have no such pictures to return to her."

Jesse slipped the serape over his head and let out a gentle sigh, looping a hand around Hanzo's middle. "It'll be okay," he murmured. "Here, look." He held up the handwritten note-- in the margins were colored pencil drawings of dragons with big teeth and hearts around them. "According to this, Hope drew those. She takes after her Pa..." He set the note down after reading it and kissed Hanzo's cheek. "I'm here. Let's keep lookin'."

He was right - the serape _did_ suit McCree. It didn't fit his shirt as well as the red one, but that was why people didn't wear the same shirt every damn day (though sometimes Hanzo wondered if Jesse would, should he be allowed to). A finger lifted to sweep lazily along its hem as his lover offered soft kindnesses. The taller man never asked what was wrong, or took a guess. He just cared and comforted, and Hanzo accepted it without any pride in the way. A smile grew on his face from the kiss and the attempt at a dragon.

The package was full of all sorts of goodies, really. There were things it held that were charming, endearing, expected... The serape, photographs, a doodled-on letter, a little baggie of Mexican candies, and...

Oh. That jolted Hanzo right out of his quiet, fond headspace, brought it forward into a frown and vague amusement meeting wordless surprise. Of all the things he could say, he said the first thing that came to mind, deadpan. Not upset, just stunned at such a gift. "What the fuck did you tell her."

Jesse, terribly embarrassed, picked up a box of condoms with a smartass comment written on it in Spanish. He stared. "Goddamnit. I-I just told her I had a great samurai boyfriend with dragons!" He seemed flustered, and started piling everything back into the box. "I swear," he insisted, "That's all." McCree made a mental note to complain to his mother later about how insistant she was on embarrassing him. "Now you know where I get my snarky humor," he laughed, rather nervously. "I hope that wasn't too much."

 _"Great samurai boyfriend with dragons,"_ Hanzo echoed doubtfully, as if it was just as bad as telling his mother he wanted to get frisky with said dragons. "They will think I ride scaled beasts. I may prove disappointing." Despite that, his frown relaxed as he tried and utterly failed to imagine what Jesse might've said about him that wasn't explicit for her to send these. If anything, the surprise of Jesse's family sharing his wit was even more of a reason to want to meet them - something McCree... wanted. Jesse wanted him to meet his family.

That struck something the Shimada wasn't aware even existed, and he snapped out of his thoughts just as Jesse began to pack everything away. Without thinking, Hanzo put his photograph aside and reached out, hand landing firm on the other's mid-thigh.

A moment of pause, both likely surprised by the move. His other hand reached out, quickly but not hasty, and covered Jesse's. Stopping him from withdrawing his hand and closing the box.

It took him a moment to speak. "Jesse." The name broke the silence, then held it for a few moments. Hanzo could feel the way the other's muscles moved under his hands, how they reacted to his touch. Even the slightest response cause his attention, turned his voice slightly breathy, curling from his lips like cigar smoke. "It is dishonorable to put a gift to waste."

McCree's head spun a moment as he looked from Hanzo to the box of condoms and back again. "Oh, jesus, I, uh... You're lookin' at me like you're gonna eat me."

Hanzo looking ready to eat him was an apt statement. His eyes were bright and interested, focused intently on his prey even as that smirk remained present on his features. Calculating, thinking, knowing, wanting.

"Perhaps."


End file.
